Tin Angel
by AraLuna
Summary: Post Hogwarts: A chance encounter with Hermione Granger in a Muggle café leaves Draco Malfoy aching for more. DHr. !Winner of three awards at Dangerous Liaisons!
1. Chapter 1

Post Hogwarts: A chance encounter with Hermione Granger in a Muggle café leaves Draco Malfoy aching for more. D/Hr with mentions of B/Hr, H/G, and R/L. Disregards the events of HBP. Will eventually contain mature content, i.e. sex, so if this offends you, best stop now.

Author's Note: My first fanfic ever, so I'm a little nervous about posting it. Reviews, including constructive criticism much appreciated. Also, I do not have a Beta; in fact, I have no idea how to even go about looking for one. If you find serious offence with my grammar or spelling, please feel free to volunteer for the position :)

_**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would sit around writing in exotic locales everyday. Unfortunately, that great honor goes to J.K. Rowling. I am merely playing pretend in her universe.**_

**Tin Angel**

1

It was like having been caught unsuspecting by a blow to the chest. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe; only stare. She sat at a table by the open window, wearing a pale yellow sundress and reading a book. Her fine cheekbones were flushed a healthy pink and her pouty bottom lip bore just a trace of a berry-colored gloss. The light breeze from the open window caught some of her springy brown curls and they seemed to float about her, glowing in the afternoon sunshine like a jar of honey held up to the light. He wondered if anyone else in the world knew that Granger could be that beautiful.

* * *

Draco had been walking home to his Chelsea flat, enjoying the mild weather of early spring, and had stepped into The Mermaid Café, an old favorite, on impulse. It was a charming Muggle café with walls covered in Byzantine tiles of blue and turquoise, and artfully mismatched antique chairs and tables. He'd ordered a cup of tea from the counter and was looking around to find a table where he could sit and read his book, when he'd spied Granger and felt his lungs seize up.

Draco had not seen her in person since their graduation from Hogwarts. As a close friend of Potter's and a heroine of the war, he had heard her name mentioned sometimes when he mingled among Wizarding London society, and he recalled seeing her name or picture from time to time on the society pages of the Daily Prophet, especially when she began dating the oldest Weasley brother several years ago. As he had spent a great deal of the last few years attending to business matters abroad, he'd gotten out of the habit of keeping track of society gossip, and therefore knew little regarding her current state of affairs.

With a bit of effort he forced his lungs to suck in a bit of air and wondered if he dared approach her. Surely she had married that Weasley prat by now. From what he recalled, the relationship had been quite serious and met with universal approval by those who knew them. Yet, as he watched her absently twirl one of those curls around her finger as she lost herself in her book, he felt compelled to speak to her, to see if she was as lovely up close as she was from where he stood now. Certainly there was no harm in speaking to her, he thought. At best, he'd be catching up with an old schoolmate and find himself bored to tears with stories of her perfect marriage with her perfect Weasley. At worst…well, he had always found a somewhat truculent pleasure in the verbal sparring of their youth. Certainly, she wouldn't hex him in a café full of Muggles.

On silent feet he crossed the café to the table where she sat, stopping just behind her and peering around her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the cover of her book. _Neruda_. Draco repressed the smirk that tugged at his lips.

"_Love is so short, forgetting is so long_." Draco quoted softly, "Why, Granger, I'd have never taken you for a romantic."

She turned slowly, her pretty mouth turned up in a smile to greet whichever of her acquaintance had spoken. Her smile faltered as her large dark eyes widened in recognition.

"Malfoy." She greeted him wearily.

"Granger." He returned, willing his breathing to remain steady. To his delight he found she was even more alluring up close.

"A friend of mine," Draco mused, trying to keep his tone light, "quite a fan of those poems himself, once said that the key to a man's character lay in which of range of Neruda's work he was drawn to. Now, I would have pegged you as having more of a political or historical inclination. _Canto General_ or maybe _Song of Protest_. And instead I find you reading a book that was considered controversial at its publication for its blatant eroticism. My, my, Granger, you're not the same girl I remember."

She blushed prettily, but managed to shake off his flustering comments to retort, "Apparently, I could say the same for you, given your surprisingly intimate knowledge of a Muggle poet."

He smirked at her, "This is one of my favorite cafés. I've never seen you here before. Do you come often?"

"Whenever I can," she replied, "My work had me traveling a great deal in the last year, but I've come here as often as I can. I like this café, too."

"Do you live here in Chelsea?"

"Yes, I have a flat near the park."

"The park? Really? That's a rather posh area. Does your husband like it?"

"My husband?"

"Yes, I thought you were married to that Weasel?"

"Ron?" she said carefully, "No, he married Luna Lovegood two years after graduation."

"No, the oldest one. Bill, isn't it? Weren't you dating him for quite some time? I assumed you'd be married by now."

He saw his mistake almost immediately. She'd been attempting to misdirect him, but he'd not seen it in time and as soon as he mentioned Bill Weasley, her cheeks flushed scarlet. Her voice was considerably quieter when she answered.

"No, Bill is married, but not to me. He married Fleur Delacour several months ago."

"What about Potty and Dumbottom?" Draco asked, attempting to divert the conversation from the older Weasley, "Has anyone been saddled with those two yet?"

"Harry married Ginny Weasley the summer she left Hogwarts. Neville married Susan Bones two years ago. They had a baby just before Christmas." Hermione answered, her blush fading and a small smile crept up on her face. "All we need is a 'Mudblood' from you and a 'Ferret' from me, and the regression to our school-ages selves would be complete."

"Ah, but I don't use that word anymore. I guess we'll have to settle for being adults then, shan't we?" He made a point of looking around the café, then back at her table.

"May I join you?" he queried hopefully, glancing at the empty chair across from her.

Her eyebrows raised, lips parting in momentary surprise at his request, "Oh— er—…of course. Do sit down."

Draco slipped into the chair across from her, setting his book and cup on the table, and feeling very pleased with himself.

The next few moments passed in silence as Draco calmly studied her face and Hermione's eyes flitted around nervously. Her eyes fell on Draco's book and another expression of surprise glanced across her features.

"Dinesen? You're reading Dinesen?" She asked him in surprise.

"Out of Africa is considered to be one of the greatest books ever written." He said calmly.

"Yes…by a Muggle."

"From your tone, I would venture to guess you're surprised to find me reading it?"

"Well…yes." She said honestly.

"I'm stung by your opinion of me, Granger," he said, the humor in his eyes betraying his scornful tone, "Common sense should dictate that, what with my impeccable upbringing and considerable academic achievement, finishing second only to yourself, if I recall correctly, that it would be quite within reason that I should find enjoyment in a lyrical masterpiece such as this, Muggle author or no."

"Yes, how foolish of me. I suppose all the racial slurs you slung at me during school are clouding my sense of reason." she returned, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Obviously. The absence of reason might also explain why the ever-logical Ms. Granger is reading a book of poems about love. Or perhaps, you've just grown up. Perhaps you've realized that your old ideals are not as cut and dry as they were when you were a girl."

She said nothing, merely watched him with interest. Swayed by his sudden attraction to her or maybe just the weight of years of introspection, Draco suddenly felt daring. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to be honest with her as he crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward on them.

"What would you say if I said I'd grown up, too? That I had realized my beliefs were simple and flawed?" he paused, looking down his hands, "Would you believe me if I told you I was sorry for all the things I said as a child? That I don't believe them anymore?"

He glanced up at her, and she held his gaze, searching his eyes as though to gage his honesty.

"I would say, I'd like very much to believe it was true." Hermione said cautiously.

Draco looked out the window, pausing a few moments before he quietly continued, "I was just a boy, Granger. What child doesn't have unconditional faith in everything his parents teach him? It took years to realize how misguided I'd been on so many things. I still hate Potter, I'll always hate the Weasleys, but regarding you and all the things I believed in regards to blood, I was wrong."

Hermione seemed to mull his words over for a few minutes before responding, "I suppose it follows, given your change of allegiance 7th year. If you'd never questioned those beliefs, you would have died defending them like all the others. Or at least, declared neutrality instead of helping us."

She looked at him intently for a few moments, then, averted her eyes out the window to the street, smiling shyly, and he knew he was forgiven.

"I presume this means you'll be wanting to be friends next." She said, looking back at him.

"Would that be so bad?" he replied, noting her good humor and suddenly feeling more hopeful than he had in ages.

"Well…I don't know. I know ever so many people, and until one of them dies, I couldn't possibly be friends with anyone else." She said solemnly.

His jaw dropped and he stared at her in shock, then, at a thought, narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, before smirking triumphantly.

"It seems to me, Miss Granger, that, as we read the same books and apparently, watch the same movies, it would greatly enhance your overall social enjoyment to favor me with friendship and ouster one of the, no doubt, vast number of idiots lucky enough to be counted among your acquaintance. Percy Weasley comes to mind as a viable candidate, though I must say I've always found Ernie Macmillan to be a rather pompous git."

"Oh, are you implying that arrogance is a questionable quality, because if you are, I daresay you might be endangering your own nomination."

"I would never imply anything of the kind. I see nothing at all wrong with arrogance so long as one has the substance to back it up. What with my estate, career, connections, charm, wit and devastating good looks, my attitude could hardly be thought unfounded. Macmillan, on the other hand, is more like a short, dumpy ostrich with eyeballs bigger than its brain, yet boasting of its own cleverness. Look, look how I stick my head in the dirt! Aren't I just brilliant? Bow down before me lest I peck you to death!"

Her hands flew to her mouth in attempt to stay her laughter, but it escaped her anyway, making Draco feel pleased and anxious to hear it again.

"So," Draco said, "Have you actually read Dinesen or are you just indignant on behalf of all Muggle authors on principle?"

"I've read it. Twice, actually. You were right about her prose style being particularly lyrical. My mother loved her too. She even named an old oak tree in our yard Ehrengard." Her eyes glazed over a bit, a look he recalled her exhibiting whenever she spoke of books at Hogwarts. "I love the part where she talks about wishing for forgiveness from the giraffes bound for the menagerie in Hamburg. It made me cry. What have you liked best so far?"

"Hmm, though it's hardly fair to say so without having read the entire book, so far I think the part about the iguanas. Something about that story, in particular, just…struck me."

"I can see that." She said thoughtfully, " '_I have conquered them all, but I am standing amongst graves.'_ "

He met her eyes from across the table, and for the first time in years felt the world may not be as bereft as he feared.

* * *

An hour later, they were still laughing and finishing a second cup of tea.

"I've really enjoyed myself. I had no idea you could be so much fun, Malfoy." Hermione smiled as she slipped her book into her bag and stood, pulling her sweater from the back of her chair.

"Do you need to be somewhere?" he queried, standing as well, reluctant to part company from her.

"I don't have any appointments or anything. I'd just planned on stopping by a record store before I went home."

"The one a few blocks up off King's Road? I know that store. They've an excellent selection. Diverse."

"Do you own a record player?"

"Yes. Are you shocked?"

"Quite. Whatever would your friends say? I'm sure it would be quite the scandal."

"Yes, but the most scandalous things are often the most enjoyable, wouldn't you agree?"

"I'm sure you know better than I. Would you like to come with me? That is if you've nothing better to do?"

"I'd be delighted." Draco said, gathering up his book, his hand gently grazing the small of her back as he guided her out of the café.

* * *

Author's Notes:

The title of this fic is taken from a Joni Mitchell song off her album "_Clouds_." If you've never heard it, I insist that you immediately depart for the nearest library or music store and find the CD (or LP if you are cool enough to own a turntable.) I am not a big fan of song-fics, but I may incorporate a few references to various songs of hers throughout the fic. Props to anyone who can pick them out.

_Canto General_ and _Songs of Protest_ are books of poems written by Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. The book Hermione is reading is intended to be _Twenty Poems of Love and a Song of Despair_, by the same author. Draco quotes a line from Poem 20, commonly known as "Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines."

_Out of Africa_ is a memoir written by Danish author Karen Blixen under the penname Isak Dinesen. Hermione references the chapter called "The Giraffes Go to Hamburg" and quotes a line from the chapter entitled "The Iguana." _Ehrengard_ is a novella by the same author.

Hermione's quote regarding having too many friends is from the 1963 Audrey Hepburn/Cary Grant film _Charade_.


	2. Chapter 2

Post Hogwarts: A chance encounter with Hermione Granger in a Muggle café leaves Draco Malfoy aching for more. D/Hr with mentions of BW/Hr, H/G, and R/L. Disregards the events of HBP. Please review! 

**_Disclaimer: Things I own: A map of the People's Republic of China. A small stuffed llama. A videocassette of taped episodes of that Hugh Laurie show. A couple of copies of the Harry Potter books. Things I do NOT own: The People's Republic of China. A real llama. Hugh Laurie. Harry Potter._**

**Tin Angel**

2

Draco Malfoy strolled into the corporate offices of Malfoy Enterprises the next day, feeling almost chipper enough to smile at the security guards and various employees as he passed. He scowled at them instead, biting the insides of his cheeks and furrowing his brow, until he stepped into his private lift and allowed himself to smirk smugly at his reflection in the shiny brass doors.

He'd spent another two hours with Hermione the night before, thumbing through crates full of dusty old LPs and trying to find inconspicuous ways to touch her. A brush of the hand against her arm. A nudge of the shoulder if she said something funny. Leaning over her to see what album she was examining allowed him the double pleasure of brushing slightly against her backside and smelling her hair. Lavender. Maybe a hint of vanilla.

Draco stepped off the lift and sauntered into the reception area of his company's executive offices, nodding at his secretary.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," his secretary greeted, stepping out from behind her desk to hand him his mail and various paperwork requiring signatures. "Mr. Zabini is waiting inside, sir."

"Excellent." Draco said and strode into his office. He'd appointed Blaise as President of Malfoy Enterprises the moment he's assumed the corporate reins following graduation, wanting someone he trusted implicitly as his right-hand-man instead of the senile, old dodgers his father had favored. Blaise had quickly proven himself a highly capable and calculating businessman, and Draco lavishly rewarded his dedication and ingenuity.

Blaise was already sitting in one of the leather armchairs opposite his desk, his morning reports resting on his leg in a neat stack. Draco walked up and clapped him on the shoulder in greeting. "Morning Blaise. How was the Arrows game last night?"

"Smashing." Blaise replied in his usual smooth, even voice. "Arrows trampled all over the Harpies. No doubt we can expect the same with the Cannon's next week."

"Capital. Perhaps I'll put in appearance myself. I've not used the box in ages." Draco mused, dropping his papers onto the desk and lounging back in his chair to face his friend.

Blaise seemed to note his good mood, regarding him carefully before speaking. "Have we had a breakthrough with those bastards at Keating that I'm not aware of or did you just have a monumental lay last night?"

Draco actually laughed, "Neither actually. Just a rather pleasant evening. Though I wouldn't mind hearing that we've made progress with the Keating deal."

"Nothing substantial yet, but we have several meetings lined up and a dinner appointment scheduled for you and Pete Keating in two weeks. Regarding our investments in…"

As Blaise reviewed their morning notes, Draco found his mind drifting off, thinking again of his run-in with Hermione. She'd seemed willing enough to be friendly with him. How would she react if he pursued her more intimately? His first slip up had warned him enough about her sensitivity regarding her romantic history. He'd not dared to ask if she was currently seeing anyone. Of course, there were other ways to come about such information.

"…and the profits from our Imported Textiles division are up 7 for the quarter…"

"Blaise?" Draco interrupted suddenly. "What do you know about Hermione Granger?"

"Granger? Well, let's see…best friend of Harry Potter, finished top in our year at school, currently employed as an International Liaison for Gringotts, sits on the Board of Trustees of Legal Aide for Magical Brethren, various connections to the ministry via the Weasley's, various connections to the Prophet and Witch Weekly through former dorm mates, …I think she's married to the oldest Weasley, I believe his name is Bill."

"I'd thought so, too, but no, she's not married to him. He married that Delacour girl from the Triwizard."

"Oh? I hadn't heard. Is Granger stirring up trouble with our workers in the goblin division? We've been very careful, everything is to code."

"No, no, nothing like that. I was merely curious what you knew about her."

Almost imperceptibly, Blaise quirked an eyebrow and Draco groaned internally. They'd been friends since they were in nappies, and consequently, Blaise was one of the few people who could read him when he was attempting to feign indifference. An ability that proved invaluable during business negotiations and maddening when attempting a game of chess or cards.

"You're trying to get into her knickers, then?" Blaise queried, the corner of his mouth twitching with a suppressed smirk.

"What? Don't be ridiculous. I was simply curious what you— What?— bugger off, you bloody wanker— Oh fine! I ran into her yesterday after work and she's bloody gorgeous! I even managed to get her to forgo her wand and actually talk to me. Merlin, Blaise, I had no idea women could be like that. She was brilliant and witty and fascinating and she has the sexiest little laugh, and, Gods, it was all I could do not to drag her into an alley and snog her senseless." Draco rambled, running his hands through his pale hair wearily.

"Yes, as if snogging is what happens when men and women are alone in alleyways."

"I was trying to be tasteful." Draco sniffed, "Although, she had on the most delectable little yellow sundress. I couldn't help but wonder if it would be hotter to peel it off her or simply bunch it up round her waist if I were to shag her in the alley."

"Are you going to see her again?"

"She said I could owl her if I ever wanted to meet up again."

"As if you would pay any heed to whether or not she granted you an invitation." Blaise snorted.

"Indeed. I think I'll owl her after lunch. Should I bother asking if you disapprove?"

"Well, she is a Muggle-born." Blaise wrinkled his nose, as though the stench of her lowliness could be discerned from where he sat. "However, with the state of politics today and her undeniably powerful connections, it would be justifiably easy to overlook that one factor. If she intrigues you, I can see little fault in pursuing whatever interests you have in the girl."

Draco smirked. Leave it to Blaise to strip away all notions of romance and sex, and reduce everything to business and politics.

"You know what, you're right, Blaise. There isn't any good reason not to pursue her." As he spoke he reached over and tapped his wand to a small black button on the corner of his desk. A moment later his secretary popped her head through the door.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Elinor, clear a spot in my schedule this afternoon. Place a call to Gringott's and make an appointment with one of their advisors regarding setting up a new account."

"What kind of account, sir?"

"I have no preference; savings, investment, whatever you like, so long as I must go in person to discuss it. Oh, and Elinor, make sure whomever I meet with is on the same floor as the International Liaison Division."

* * *

"Well, I'm not surprised she's pregnant again. What do you expect, considering her mother?" said a very solemn Luna Weasley between bites of her hummus and pickle sandwich. "I'd wager a small pile of galleons that there are a few ancient stone idols of Cybele or Ishtar buried on their property and contaminating their water supply. How else can you explain women having that many babies?"

"Perhaps they're just rubbish at contraceptive charms. Or maybe Harry's just convinced Ginny how cool it would be to beget their very own Quidditch team." Hermione offered, rooting around in her fruit salad for another strawberry.

"All the same, I never drink the water when I'm there, just in case."

"Really? Never? I hadn't noticed that."

"I have a water skein made from a goat I used to know. I take it with me whenever we go to the Burrow. I'll share with you if you 'd like. You can never be too careful."

"I'll keep that in mind next time I take a lover." Hermione said with a slight smile and blushed a bit.

Luna smiled back and took another bite of her sandwich. That was why she liked Hermione so much. She would never be able to discuss the news of Ginny's latest pregnancy with any of her Weasley relations without them turning the topic around on Luna, and asking when she and Ron were finally going to start having babies. She positively loathed having to explain again and again that, with Ron's career as Keeper for Puddlemere United and her own work writing for the Quibbler, they simply hadn't the time for children yet. Hermione, much to Luna's relief, seemed to find nothing unusual in this and had never questioned her on the matter.

Since her marriage to Ron six years ago, Luna had come to be rather good friends with Hermione Granger. Though they'd had little in common as schoolgirls, Luna found that graduation and the end of the war had been very good for Hermione. Without the constant stress of schoolwork and the daunting task of keeping Harry and Ron alive, Hermione had relaxed considerably. She enjoyed her job and easily excelled at it, giving her a sense of quiet confidence and good humor that carried over into her personal life.

Luna had been delighted when Bill Weasley had started dating Hermione five years earlier. Though she adored her sister-in-law, she couldn't help but find Ginny's preoccupation with her role as Harry's wife and the importance of being a Mommy tiresome, and was pleased to be able to pass the numerous Weasley family dinners and parties talking to sweet and smart Hermione.

When the relationship between Bill and her friend abruptly ended, Luna had felt rather crushed herself. She had nothing against Fleur, she was a nice enough girl, but Luna much preferred Hermione and had feared their friendship would diminish. However, Ron and Harry would hear nothing of Hermione extricating herself from their tight circle, and Luna herself made it a point to meet her friend for lunch as often as possible, as they were doing now.

"So, they had you out in Kathmandu for a few days again last week, yes? How was it?" Luna asked.

"Brief but enjoyable. The negotiations went well. I'm sure our people will be in within a month or two."

"Did you get to see any of the area this time?"

"A bit more. They showed me the area around Pashupatinath, which is where Gringott's interests lie. I was treated to several meals in the Thamel district and managed to catch a Newar folk performance. The area is beautiful, especially east of the city towards the Himalayas. You and Ron should keep it in mind for your next holiday. Very romantic. Next week I'm off to Venice for two days."

"Venice? We've heard rumors that a rogue band of Bunyips have migrated in and taken up residence in the canals. They like to eat women, you know. Do be careful when you are walking around there. Strange business, that."

"Indeed? I'll be sure to look into it before I leave. Speaking of strange business, you'll never believe whom I ran into at a café yesterday. Draco Malfoy."

"Sweet Merlin!" Luna exclaimed, abandoning her sandwich and looked her friend over with concern. "You poor darling. Was it awful? Did he hex you? Did you hex him?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Hermione laughed, waving off Luna's concern. "It was the strangest thing, actually. He was nice to me. He sat down at my table and bought me a cup of tea and we talked for a couple of hours."

"For a couple of hours? Goodness Hermione, whatever about?"

"All sorts of things. Books, music, films. Mundane topics mostly and a lot of harmless teasing. We didn't discuss anything personal…except…well, at one point he confessed that he'd realized all that Pureblood/Mudblood business was a bunch of rot and apologized for being an awful prat during school."

"No!" Luna gasped.

"Yes." Hermione said, still scarcely believing it herself. "He was even reading a book by a Muggle author. By choice. And enjoying it."

"No!" Luna gasped again.

"I know. And I actually enjoyed talking to him so much I invited him to go music shopping with me. It was so much fun. I think its possible we might even become friends."

Luna just stared at her friend in wonder. Being the woman she was, there were very few things Luna found hard to believe, and the idea of Draco Malfoy attempting to befriend Hermione Granger was certainly one of them. "Do you think he's gone mad? Perhaps his parents' deaths were too much for him and he's gone round the bend. Or maybe he's been possessed? That old manor is surely full of malignant spirits."

"An interesting theory," Hermione said gently, "but really I think maybe he's just grown-up.

Luna shrugged and smiled at her friend, a bit of her normal dreaminess drifting back into her eyes. "Well, insufferable bastard that he was, Malfoy was always rather easy on the eyes. How did he look?"

"Ron would have an aneurysm if he ever heard you say that!" Hermione laughed. "He looked well, I suppose. Fit, healthy. Impeccably dressed, as always. I bet the price of his shoes alone could more than cover my rent."

"You know what I meant." Luna chided in the same dreamy tone. "Is he still a dish?"

"I dunno. I suppose so. He plays in an informal Quidditch league for fun, so he keeps himself fit. Ok—fine!" she exclaimed with a laugh at the exasperated look Luna gave her, "He's grown into a rather handsome man. I had no trouble looking at him during our conversation. And…he has rather nice teeth." She added softly.

Luna noted the slight blush in her friend's cheeks and smiled lazily at her. "Are you going to date him?"

"Oh Luna!" Hermione snorted. "We've hardly even become friends. Really, now, I doubt anyone could change that much."

"Are you going to shag him, then?" Luna asked as Hermione took a sip of her water.

"Luna!" Hermione choked, coughing a bit of water into her fruit salad. "Bloody Merlin, what's gotten into you? I'd be crazy to shag him. Ron and Harry would disown me! And they'd have you sent to St. Mungo's for suggesting it! And they'd probably hunt Malfoy down and disembowel him just for the hell of it."

Luna simply smiled and shrugged, taking up her sandwich for another bite.

* * *

Draco spotted her the moment he stepped out of that prig. Bisentongue's office, and took a deep calming breath, willing away the small knot of nerves that tightened in his stomach, as his feet carried him towards her. She was standing a ways down the corridor with her back to him, next to the tiniest goblin Draco had ever seen, and facing a large oafish man at least twice her size.

Her brown curls were gathered in a loose knot at the back of her head and she wore her neat, pressed Gringotts robes open over what he hoped was another sundress. He drew nearer, then paused, noting her rigid posture and the defiant upward turn of her chin as she glared icily up at the large man opposite her.

"If I ever hear you saying such things to any of them again," she warned, her voice so calm and cold, even Blaise would have been impressed, "so help me, I will have you sacked faster than you can string together two words in your defense."

Draco was more than impressed. A crackle of power seemed to radiate off her slight frame and the large man's eyes grew wide as he gulped nervously. This, Draco thought, is the witch who helped bring down the darkest wizard known to history.

The man glanced quickly down at the tiny goblin, then nodded shakily at Hermione before spinning on his heel and hurrying off down the corridor. When he'd disappeared into a doorway, the little goblin said something that Draco couldn't make out, and Hermione giggled, the curls at the back of her head trembling with her laughter. She watched the little goblin walk away and he steeled himself to make his move.

On silent feet, Draco closed the distance between them, stopping just behind her and leaning down so his lips were inches from the shell of her ear.

" '_Though she be but little, she is fierce. Well roared, Lion_.' "

She jumped slightly at the first sound of his voice, but did not whirl around to scold him too. Instead, she tilted her head just slightly toward him, exposing the slender curve of her neck as though inviting him to taste it.

"And what of you, serpent?" she murmured, a playful smile tugging at her lips, "Do you always greet with prose? Fancy yourself a modern day Savinien? Or are you just Christian de Neuvillette, gaining favor with another man's words?"

"So long as favor is gained, the means are of little consequence. Do you really think me a serpent, little Lion?" he teased, aching to press his mouth to the soft skin just below her ear.

"I was attempting to be polite and improvised. I could have stuck with the canon of your choosing and called you an ass."

He chuckled and she turned to face him, her little smile blossoming into a grin.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy? Yesterday not enough for you? Feeling so wretched for friends, the misanthropic façade is crumbling?" she asked, cheekily.

"Yes, Granger, the pain was so acute I couldn't bear to spend another moment apart from the glory of your presence." he declared, flashing her an exaggerated grimace. "Actually," he continued, "I had an appointment with someone in your trade department regarding a few of my overseas accounts."

"Oh? Why didn't you mention it yesterday?" she asked curiously.

Damn her, he thought, holding in a snort, "I rarely trouble myself to remember minor meetings such as these. My secretary keeps track of my schedule."

She seemed to accept that answer, nodding and then querying, "Which of those International Accounts idiots did you have the pleasure of meeting with?"

"A weedy fellow, by the name of Roderick Bisentongue. Simpering little whelp, isn't he."

"Behind his back, I always call him Bassington-Bassington." She smiled guiltily.

"As in, 'I've just had a rummy appointment with old Bassington-Bassington?' " Draco asked, eliciting a nod and chuckle from Hermione. "I'd say the comparison is dead accurate."

"So," he said, deciding to go in for the kill, "as we have already established my inability to carry on breathing in the absence of your rapturous company, I thought I might inquire about your plans for tomorrow. Or do they make you slaves come in to count piles of Galleons on the weekends?"

Hermione laughed and shook her head no, so he continued, "They are having a festival in the park all day tomorrow. There's going to be an auction of rare wines, but its all Muggle currency. It would be nice to have someone around to help me keep track of the exchange rate, lest I bid away my entire estate."

"Seems like I'll be counting Galleons no matter what I do," she teased, "The only leverage you have is the prospect of sunshine, eh?"

"Don't forget the pleasure of my company, Granger. I might even be persuaded to throw in lunch."

"How could a girl say no to that?" she laughed, and Draco desperately fought down the mutinous grin that threatened to take over his face.

* * *

Author's Notes/References:'Though she be but little, she is fierce.' and ' Well roared, Lion.' are two separate quotes from A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare, as is Hermione's reference to being an ass.  
Savinien is the first name of the man who was the basis for the play Cyrano de Bergerac, by Edmond Rostand. Christian de Neuvillette is the man who passes off Cyrano's wit and poeticism as his own to win the heart of the beautiful Roxanne. 

Cyril Bassington-Bassington is my shout out to the brilliant P.G. Wodehouse. Cyril is a character from the hilarious Jeeves and Wooster short stories. I think one of the BBC Fry/Laurie J & W episodes centered on this character as well.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Another day, another update. This one a bit longer than the last two. Instead of going with the usual 'Dinner was splendid' or 'They drank whiskey and laughed all night,' I have attempted to actually write the first date. Damn, I had no idea how hard it would be. Love it, hate it, think I should have just cut out all the crap and said 'dinner was splendid' then have them shag wildly? Leave me a review and let me know : ) 

**_Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I would buy out Marvel Comics, and force the writers to at last fulfill my childhood dream of seeing my favorite characters finally stop flirting and get together (I was a romantic early on.) Unfortunately, J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and, to the best of my knowledge, the writers at Marvel carry on with the madness._**

Tin Angel

Chapter 3

* * *

If she wears another sundress, I swear I'll give ten thousand galleons to war orphans, Draco thought as he leaned casually against the gray stone entryway of Hermione's building, waiting for her to come down from her flat. They'd agreed to meet at 10:30 Saturday morning, and Draco had walked around her block twice before buzzing her flat the moment his watch hit half-past the hour. She had laughed at his promptness, the sound ringing out through the polished plate of the intercom as she promised she'd be right down. 

He stuck his hands in his pockets, schooling his features into a mask of aloof calmness and attempting to suppress the elation he was feeling at the prospect of spending an entire day in her company. It wouldn't do to go about acting like a giddy schoolgirl on her first date to Hogsmeade. He frowned, as images of himself in a pleated skirt and knee socks, skipping down the street with a mortified Hermione, flashed through his mind. Disturbing, he thought with a shudder. Busy with repressing nauseating images of himself sporting wispy blond pigtails, he didn't notice Hermione come down the stairs and slip through the outer doorway of her building.

"Hello, Malfoy." She greeted, and Draco's eyes darted up to look at her.

Lucky bloody orphan bastards, he thought smugly, trying to reign in his lecherous stare, lest he scare her off before he'd even spoken. She wore a crisp, girlish white sundress with delicate straps that grazed lightly over the lines of her collarbones. The thoughts of blond pigtails and pleated skirts were quickly supplanted by images of himself slipping those straps down her arms and tracing a line of kisses from her shoulder to the slim curve of her neck. Draco felt his groin tighten slightly.

"Granger." He replied smoothly, straightening up and stepping closer to her.

They regarded each other silently for a few moments, before Hermione glanced down at the street and cleared her throat. "Would you mind terribly if we walked? The Albert Bridge isn't far, and it'd be a shame to waste such fine weather," she said with a hopeful little smile.

"Not at all," he said, leading the way down to the pavement, "I've always liked walking along the embankment."

Draco cast her surreptitious glances as they walked quietly down the tree-lined street toward the Thames, admiring the richness of her curls and noting the return of the berry-colored gloss to her full bottom lip. He'd like nothing better at the moment than to suck every bit of that gloss off her pouty little mouth.

"So what, Malfoy? No poetic greeting today?" she broke the silence, looking over at him playfully, "I must say, I'm rather disappointed. I'd thought a man of your intellect and breeding would surely come up with something more titillating than 'Granger' and 'I've always enjoyed walking down the embankment," she mocked, lowering the pitch of her voice and raising her chin so she could stare down her nose at him snootily.

"I do apologize for the disappointment, Granger," he replied, "I've had a rather busy morning so far, what with putting out a fire in an art museum, escorting a cartel of doddering old blue-hairs across busy intersections, volunteering at the library, rescuing a baby from dingoes and donating loads of Galleons to orphans. I've simply been a bit distracted."

"Hardly a viable excuse for such negligence. You'll just have to try harder next time or I may begin to doubt the extent of your literary prowess." she chided.

"Indeed. Perhaps I should start immediately," he atoned, looking at her slyly, as they turned to walk along the embankment, "I do rather like that dress of yours, Granger. Are you making a reference of some kind? Testing my skill at picking out allusions? Let's see…Woman in White?"

"Ah, but which one? There are so many to choose from," she teased, playing along.

"Hmm… well, there's the one from the Wilkie Collins book," Draco offered, " and the Latin legend of the weeping woman."

"And Rebecca from that de Maurier novel." Hermione added.

"You could always opt for Bertha Mason." 

"Poor woman. I never liked that name." Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. "As if being ugly and mental weren't enough, she had to have an unpleasant name as well."

"And here I thought you devoid of vanity. We could revert to the Rhys book and call you Antoinette instead." Draco said, nudging her lightly with his shoulder to make her smile.

She laughed, looking at him thoughtfully, "So, let me get this straight. My options are…a mad woman, …dead, …dead, …and child killer? My, I must have been feeling terribly morbid when I got dressed this morning."

"Not necessarily," Draco mused, "there is always the Good Witch from the Wizard of Oz."

"Glinda? Didn't she wear a giant pink creampuff of a dress?" Hermione asked, looking up at him.

"In the movie. Haven't you read the book? No? Really? Imagine that. What would the adoring Gryffindor masses say if they knew there was a Muggle book Draco Malfoy had read, but Hermione Granger had not?

"I'm sure the Slytherin's would have a few choice words themselves, if they were privy to that bit of information," she snorted.

"In the book," Draco said, brushing aside her comment, "Glinda wears a white dress. I think we're on to something, Granger, as you are also a witch and, unless you lead a scandalous double life, a poster child for Goodness. The proverbial shoe seems to fit." He said smugly, emphasizing his pointed by reaching over and tugging gently at the flared skirt of her dress.

"Fine then. I can deal with being Glinda. And whom does that make you? The scarecrow?"

"Surely not, as I, quite clearly, am in possession of a brain."

"You are too scaly to be a Lion, which leaves…"

"The heartless woodsman?" he cut in.

"No," she shook her head and looked at him solemnly, "The flying monkey."

* * *

"That one there." Draco said, pointing at a small cup of colorful, cut fruit. The leathery old man reached down to pluck it out of the display, exchanging it for the two Muggle notes Draco offered him. Crowds of people choked the variegated maze of vendor stands and tents, and Draco wove his way through them, hoping Hermione hadn't ventured far. He found her exactly where he'd left her a few minutes earlier, fingering a handbag cut from an old, delicately embroidered Indian tapestry as she negotiated the price with the trader. Gringott's must be over the moon to have her as one of their delegates, he mused as she paid the glassy-eyed vendor less than half the original asking price. 

The woman slipped the handbag into a plastic sack and handed it to Hermione, who had just spotted Draco and flashed him a grin. She bounced over to him, holding the sack open for him to see. "Isn't it lovely? I've wanted one for ages. And such a good price, too."

"Its quite fine. No one else will have anything like it," he said thoughtfully, adding, "Your negotiating skills are inspiring. That woman actually seemed pleased to accept less for it."

"Oh, that was nothing," she laughed, "I once had to convince 15 different elders in an East African village to grant Gringotts access to a single acre of land. It was a nightmare- took me three months to win them all over. Now, those women drove a hard bargain. What have you got there?" she asked, eyeing the cup of fruit he carried.

"Fresh guava. Ever tried it?"

"I don't think so. Is it sweet?"

"Most of it is. Some are more bitter and they all range in acidity. The dark red pieces are called Strawberry guava, the green are Apple and the rose-colored ones are called Hong-Kong Pink. Try one." Draco offered, holding the cup out to her.

"Oh… no. My hands are filthy from handling all those dusty, old bags at that last vendor. I don't want to reach in there." she said quickly, giving the strange fruit a skeptical glance.

"Surely you can come up with something more artful than that feeble attempt at dodgery," he smirked, reaching into the cup and plucking out a pink, fleshy cut of fruit. "Come now, you lot are supposed to be brave. Open up." he directed, holding the fruit a few inches from her lips. She paused a moment, then parted her lips, blushing and looking away as he slipped it into her mouth. Draco relished the rosy flush of her cheeks and took the opportunity to brush the pad of his thumb lightly against her bottom lip as he drew it away.

"Do you like it?" he asked softly, as she sucked on the sweet fruit.

Still unable to meet his eyes, she moved to keep walking along the line of vendors before answering.

"Yes… I think I might like it very much."

They wandered for a while among the stalls and tents, stopping to examine various wares, watch the roving festival performers, and sample the variety of foods being offered. Eventually, Draco directed them to the line of large white tents set up for the wine auction. A number of wineries had set up booths in the first few tents, hoping to capitalize on the presence of the auction goers by offering samples of their latest bottles.

They drifted from booth to booth, allowing the various pourers to convince them to have a taste of their selection.

"I noticed there aren't any spittoons." Hermione whispered betweens sips of a crisp French pinot gris. "My friend, Luna, would say that it was an underhanded ploy between the wineries and the consigners to get everyone soused and feeling divine, before sending them in to open up their purses."

"Hmm, I think there may be darker forces at work than that." Draco snickered softly, and nodded to where a graying, older gentleman was flirting shamelessly with a young brunette, "See how it loosens up all the pretty women who come to these things. Makes an easier go of it for all the rich, dirty old men."

"Such debauchery," she gasped dramatically, "To think you would risk compromising my virtue and pristine reputation just because you can't be bothered to keep track of an exchange rate."

"Yes, astonishing, isn't it, the levels I will sink to in the name of a good investment."

"Are you sure you don't mean Bacchus?" she countered.

"So much cheek for such a small thing. Wherever do you store it all up?" he said, smirking, "Ah- I think we should go sign in. It seems they're starting." He took her wineglass from her, setting it on the vendor's table, and placed his hand on the small of her back, ushering her towards the registration table.

* * *

As they exited the auction, Draco stopped at one of the vineyard booths to purchase a bottle of wine. While the seller wrapped the bottle in tissue paper and placed in a bag, Draco noted the somewhat dazed expression that graced Hermione's faced as she stood silently beside him. He watched her with amusement as they stepped out into the sunlight, taking a gentle hold on her elbow when she nearly ran into a small child. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his touch, and he longed to rub his thumb in small circles on the tender flesh where her arm bent inwards. Hell, he admitted thoughtfully, he'd really just like press as much of her to him as was decent in a public place. He wondered how far he could push that line. 

"I just-…I just can't believe it," she said suddenly, snapping him out of his reverie. "I can't believe you bought a hundred bottles of twelve-year-old grand cru Romanee Conti. Are you really that rich? I mean," she paused, turning her dark eyes up to meet his and searching them with concern, "I did make it clear how much that is in Galleons, didn't I?"

"Yes, you were quite clear. As I said before, it's an investment," he said in the most soothing voice he was capable of, still amused at her wonderment.

"Yes-…but-…it's just… Whatever will you do with it all?"

"I'll probably sell two thirds of it to my company. Marketing, I assume, will use it to finesse some of our business partners and potential clients. I'll probably keep a couple of bottles at my flat and send the rest to be stored in the wine cellars at the Manor." Draco explained, pleased that she seemed to be recovering from her shock.

"Hmm." she murmured, it over in her head. "Malfoy?" she asked suddenly, "Why live in a flat in Chelsea when you have a enormous Manor in the countryside?"

"Precisely because it is an enormous Manor in the countryside. Its an awfully big place for just one person, Granger." he explained and she grinned impishly.

"What's the matter, Heathcliff? Scared of ghosts?" she teased.

"Well, 'the murdered do haunt their murderers,' eh? All that torturing of House Elves as a boy had to catch up with me sometime." he said, laughing.

"Oh, do I detect a confession Malfoy? Are there skeletons in your cupboard?" she whispered conspiratorially.

"Cupboards are not nearly glamorous enough for my skeletons. We have dungeons for that sort of thing." He declared nasally, earning him a playful swat on the arm. Draco gave her a sinister grin, then held up the bag from the wine vendor, giving it a little shake. "This bottle of Veuve Clicquot is just begging to be consumed. Shall we go back to that Greek cuisine tent and pick up something to go with it?"

* * *

"Oh… this is heavenly." Hermione sighed, leaning back against an old tree and sipping her wine from a plastic cup. Draco lay sprawled out on his side in the grass, admiring how the dappled, late afternoon light undulated over her skin and dress. The remains of their lunch were spread out between them and he reached across them for the bottle of wine, which he'd charmed to look like water with a discreet flick of his wand. 

"Admit it Granger, all that debauchery rot you went on about was just a load of rubbish?" he scolded lightly, "Hemingway was known to refer to wine as the most civilized thing in the world. "

"Read Hemingway, as well, eh? So tell me, however did the great Draco Malfoy, supreme lord and guardian of all things grandiose and Pureblooded, come to discover Muggle literature? Certainly you don't expect me to believe that you just woke up one day and thought, I think perhaps I'll pop into a Muggle library today, see what those scummy, little blighters have lying around?"

"The truth?"

"Well yes. Unless, of course, its terribly dull, in which case you should come up with a fantastic tale of corruption and intrigue to impress me."

"Though it is rather boring, somehow I think you'll find the truth more interesting," he said thoughtfully, "because…in a round-about sort of way… it's your fault."

"Mine?" she exclaimed with surprise, before flashing him a shrewd look, "Wait, what do you mean by bor-"

"Now, now, Lioness," he crooned, not wanting her to lose her temper just yet, " Reign in that growl and I'll explain what I mean."

"Fine. Go on then." She crossed her arms across her chest and looked at him expectantly.

"The first time was that Christmas in 7th year. You and Potty and the rest of those Order altruists were out doing Merlin-knows-what, leaving me to suffer all alone and holed up at Grimmauld Place, numb with boredom. So, out of sheer desperation, I went poking about the room you shared with the Weaselette and- "

"You went snooping in our bedroom? What a dirty, perver- "

"Oh, that's beside the point, and it was years ago. I said I was desperate. Can I continue?" She snapped her mouth shut, and he nodded.

"As I was saying, I went poking about your room and came across a book with the most intriguing title I'd ever seen. At first, I brushed it off and went to explore the rest of the house, but later, when I was lying on my bed in a boredom induced stupor, the title came back to me and I couldn't get it out of my head. So I snuck back up to your room and read it cover to cover. It was a rather disconcerting experience, Granger. I had no idea Muggles could write like that."

She watched him silently from her spot against the tree, and he rolled onto his stomach, fiddling with blades of grass as he continued.

"So, I searched through your books again and found another one by the same bloke. Now that one… that one was THE one. I was shaking by the time I finished it. I'd never read anything like that before. I mean, wizard books are just concerned with the practice and history of magic. Muggles… I suppose, without magic to focus on... what I mean is, Wizards turn to magic for comfort when the world overwhelms them. Muggles look inside themselves. It makes for very powerful literature. I've been devouring it ever since."

He turned to look at her, feeling vaguely envious the tree as she looked dreamily up at its leaves.

"I've always thought the same thing." she murmured. "What was the name of the book? The one that caught your eye."

"The Unbearable Lightness of Being."

Her brows knit together and she looked at him inquisitively, "And the other book? The one that got to you."

"The Book of Laughter and Forgetting."

"Yes, I remember them." She paused thoughtfully for a moment, then gave him a strange smile, "Well, I'm happy you liked them so much. Though, you might have bothered putting them somewhere I could find them when you were through. I searched that house high and low looking for those two books. I never did find them."

"You wouldn't have found them. I kept them both. They're on a shelf at my flat."

"Wait… you stole my books?" she gasped incredulously.

"I rather prefer to think I liberated them from obscurity in your vast collection." he sniffed.

"No. You stole them, Malfoy." she taunted, rising up onto her knees and pointing an accusing finger at his face. "You pilfered my books like a common thief."

"I did not. You probably never even read them." he said petulantly.

Hermione leaned heavily back against the tree and threw her hand dramatically across her brow, "To think the illustrious Malfoy heir would stoop to such plebian acts of larceny, stealing from lowly Muggleborn girls. My world is crumbling. Damn you, Malfoy, damn you."

"Oh stuff it, Granger." he snorted, unable to keep himself from laughing, "Fine, I stole them. I shall henceforth live in abject shame."

"Shame is not enough," she retorted loftily. "You will be held accountable under the full force of the law. I shall be the prosecutor, as well as magistrate."

"You can't do that. It's immoral."

"I can. It's my right as injured party. And guess what, by your own confession you've been found guilty. You are now subject to my wrath.

"Heavens, no." he drawled at her, " How ever will I make it through? And what of my sentencing, your honour?"

She pursed her lips, looking back over at the festival grounds thoughtfully, then smiled wickedly at him. "See over there," she said, pointing to a number of colorful, flashing lights the far end of the festival grounds, "They've set up a funfair. And you are going on one of the rides."

He gave her a look of horror, as she grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the swirling lights in the distance.

* * *

"Granger, this looks like an oversized pie pan. There is no way it can be safe." Malfoy grumbled, warily watching the spinning contraption from where they stood at the front of a long line of Muggles. 

"Nonsense. It's perfectly safe. All the mummies are letting their little children ride it."

"Just because Mug-…er, these people are literary masters, doesn't mean they have any competent sense of self preservation. These are the same bloody people who think it fun to strap little pieces of wood on their feet and slide down mountains."

"As opposed to chasing a little golden marble with wings, whilst you are two hundred feet up in the air, with nothing between your arse and the ground but a thin piece of wood and some twigs?" she whispered, eyes dancing as she watched the ride come to a stop and people filter out of the little door in its side.

A Muggle man in a vest signaled for them to move forward and Hermione once again grasped his arm and pulled him through the little door. He looked around skeptically as she led him to one of the red panels that lined the walls of the machine, instructing him to lean back against it. She took the panel next to him, and he watched in tense silence as the other Muggles filtered in and chose a panel for themselves.

"Damn it, Granger, just tell me what this bloody thing does! Does it toss about us about? Make us see visions? What?" his voice breaking slightly with nerves. She just grinned at him and said nothing. Without warning, the man in the vest shut the little door and the machine gave a sudden lurch. With in seconds Draco found himself pinned back against the panel. This was unnatural, he thought, feeling his stomach lurch. Suddenly, his feet no longer touched the floor, as the panel he rested against slid violently upwards. His face reddened, as he realized he may have actually yelped.

He heard Hermione giggling beside him and he turned his head to face her, flashing her his nastiest sneer, then a look of alarm when the panel slid abruptly down again, and she only laughed harder.

"Oh, buck up, Malfoy! You're acting like a first year Hufflepuff. It's supposed to be fun. See… look what I can do." Holding her skirt in place, she spun herself about on the panel so that her feet were pointing upwards. Despite his discomfort, his eyes immediately darted to the hem of her dress, hopeful for a better glimpse of her legs. Her panel slid upwards so that her face was even with his and she smiled prettily at him. Draco felt himself calming as he looked at her upside down smile, unable to stop himself from forcing his hand off the panel and reaching over brush a stray curl out of her eyes. She shivered when he traced his finger from the tender skin of her ear down along the line of her neck.

Her panel slid downwards again as the ride began to slow and she quickly maneuvered herself upright again. Neither of them spoke until the ride stopped and Draco weakly followed her out of the little door, unsure if he felt dizzy from the force of the ride or the feel of her skin. By silent agreement, they began making their way out of the park and towards the Albert Bridge.

"Malfoy?" she asked suddenly, as they neared the bridge, "Was this a date?"

"I'd rather hoped it would be." He said calmly. "Do you not enjoy my company?"

"I-…no, I do. Very much. Its just that… since Bill I've not really…I just don't know if I'm ready to do this sort of thing again." she said quietly.

Draco mulled over her words as they crossed the bridge and moved to walk along the embankment. Hermione was looking out at the water and didn't notice him halt his steps until he reached for her hand and spun her around, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her lightly against him. She looked up at him, her pretty mouth opening in surprise and he gave in to temptation and gently pressed his lips to hers. After only a moment's pause she kissed him back and his pulse raced as she leaned into him. He ran one hand lightly up and down her arm, lost in the softness of her skin and mouth. Gathering all the self-control he possessed, he pressed a feather light kiss against her lips and pulled away, staring at her intently.

"I'd like very much to try. We can take it as slow as you'd like." he said simply.

She shivered and nodded, clutching gently at his shirt and pulling his mouth down to hers again. With ease, he parted her lips and slipped into her hot mouth, his tongue grazing hers, and she moaned softly as, at last, he sucked softly on her pouty bottom lip.

* * *

References/Author's Notes: 

I didn't realize just how many of these I used till I started revising. Damn things just pour out of me like water. I will attempt to exercise some self-restraint next chapter.

Woman in White is a mystery novel written by British author Wilkie Collins.

La Llorona is a Latin American legend of a woman who drowned her children in a river. Whether she wears white or black is dependent on which part of Latin America or the States is telling the story.

Rebecca is a novel by British author Daphne du Maurier. There is also a 1940 film version directed by Alfred Hitchcock. I know she wears a white dress in the film, I can't remember in the book. Chalk it up to poetic license- or, er, fanfic license? Yeah, that's it.

Bertha Mason is a character from British author Charlotte Bronte's novel Jane Eyre.

Antoinette Cosway is the main character in Wide Sargasso Sea, Dominican author Jean Rhys's reinterpretation of the life of Bertha Mason.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is a children's book written by American author L. Frank Baum. The 1939 movie version starring Judy Garland featured Glinda the Good Witch of the North wearing a very pouffy pink dress. In the book, Glinda, the Good Witch of the South wears a beautiful long white gown. Both book and movie feature the scarecrow, a non-scaly lion and flying monkeys.

Heathcliff Earnshaw is a character in British author Emily Bronte's novel Wuthering Heights. "The murdered do haunt their murderers" is spoken by Heathcliff about midway through the book, as he rants about wanting to damn Cathy's ghost to walk the Earth so that he doesn't have to live without her. Best part of the whole book if you ask me.

I read the Ernest Hemingway quote somewhere, but have no recollection as to where or in what context. Feel free to enlighten me.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being and The Book of Laughter and Forgetting are novels by Franco-Czech novelist Milan Kundera.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hello, all! Happy Christmas. Just consider the little bit of fluff at the end my prezzie to you. Mostly set up again, but I think you'll enjoy it. Sigh… I love Ron. I love reading about Ron with food. I just don't particularly like reading about Ron with Hermione. Thank God for fanfiction. Oh, and thank you all so much for all the wonderful reviews, I'm over the moon. I can't tell you how much they cheer me on when I'm working through a new chapter. Please leave more! 

Post Hogwarts: A chance encounter with Hermione Granger in a Muggle café leaves Draco Malfoy aching for more. D/Hr. Disregards HBP. Mentions of BW/Hr, H/G and R/L.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, the books probably wouldn't be appropriate for children. Sadly, I do not. J.K. Rowling does, and you get to spend your time reading about the 'Beast' growling in Harry for six hundred pages. Remind anyone else of… oh… I dunno… Harlequin: )

Tin Angel

Chapter 4

Ron felt his mouth water as his Mum set an enormous platter of steaming rashers on the table just across from him. He couldn't help but admire how the deep red of the freshly cooked bacon contrasted with the buttery yellow centers of the fried eggs piled up on a plate next to them. Last week, he'd taken care to enjoy first his toast, then the eggs, then the rashers, and so on, giving each item a proper appreciation, before refilling his plate and appreciating them all over again. Strategy was important in Ron's life, and breakfast was certainly not a time to slack off in that regard. Perhaps today he'd pile up the eggs and rashers on a piece of toast. Maybe top it with some sausage. He scanned the picnic table for the sausages, zeroing in on them near where Penny sat, stacked and juicy and…mmmm. Oh sweet Merlin, he was just so bloody hungry.

Damnit, Ron growled silently, everyone knew what time Sunday Burrow Brunch started, but someone always insisted on being late and tormenting him. Blighters. Everyone also knew that along with his constant schedule of training and games, Puddlemere's nutritionist regulated his weekday meals. Sunday was the only day he could really enjoy full meals, and today, because of Bill and Fleur, all that lovely food was just sitting there and his stomach was empty.

He glanced to his left: Katie and George were busy scolding one of their twins, scrubbing glittery purple nail polish off the face of the other and shooting death glares at Fred who was laughing maniacally. He glanced to his right: Luna was using her water glass to make patterns of condensation rings on the table and chatting happily with Hermione. Ron leaned forward against the picnic table, resting his forearm near the platter of rashers and trying to look casual. Inch by inch, his fingers moved closer to his target. Just one little piece, he thought, as his fingers grazed the edge of the plate and…

"Ronald Weasley!" his mum barked, making Ron jump and snatch his hand back across the table as though it had been slapped, "Control yourself! They'll be here any minute."

Luna leaned towards him and reached over to pat his arm with a soft smile, then turned back to Hermione. Ron scowled and folded his hands in his lap, looking sullenly at the food on the table. After the war, Molly had insisted on having these weekly family brunches. Everyone within Apparating distance was expected to be there at eleven sharp every Sunday; to Ron's chagrin, the 'sharp' bit seemed rather loosely interpreted by some members of the family. For the last two weeks, they'd moved their morning feast outdoors, taking advantage of the mild weather and pushing several picnic tables together out in the garden. Which was great, as far as Ron was concerned; something about fresh air made food taste better.

"We're here!" Bill called from the kitchen doorway, stepping out onto the lawn with his arm around Fleur, who flashed them all a wide toothy smile.

" 'Bout time." Ron grumbled under his breath, eyes automatically flicking to Hermione. As usual, she'd stiffened a bit when Bill first called out, looking up and wincing slightly as she caught sight of Bill's arm around Fleur. He glanced over at Harry, whose eyes now also instinctively sought out Hermione whenever Bill entered a room, and he knew Harry was feeling the same pang in his chest as they watched their old friend swallow and look down at her glass of water.

It had been six months since he, Luna, Harry and Molly had finally convinced Hermione to start attending family functions again. She was part of the family, Molly had insisted. None of this mess with Bill should change anything. They loved her and they wanted her with them. The first few times had been terribly awkward and she'd barely managed to stick it out more than an hour. But Mione was nothing if not elegant and self-possessed. Now she barely gave any indication that the sight of her ex caused her any discomfort. She even managed to be rather cordial with Fleur, something Ron himself could hardly stand to do, despite his wife's gentle urging.

"Sorry we're late, Mum." Bill apologized, kissing Molly on the cheek.

"Its fine, luv. Alright you lot. Dig in." Molly said, shooting a pointed look at Ron.

Ron grinned at her, then glanced to his right to see that Luna had drawn Hermione back into conversation. He flashed a quick dirty look at Bill, who was busy cleaning dirt and leaves off of Fleur's chair, then began forking rashers onto his plate and listened attentively as Fred and George began going on about the birthday party they were throwing themselves the following week.

"We've booked Finnigan's Wake for Saturday night." Fred was saying, "It'll be an open bar and we've worked it out with Seamus to hire our own band for the night."

"And of course, we'll be providing a little entertainment of our own," George added with a sly smirk, causing Katie to roll her eyes and shake her head, " We're expecting about 200 people so far, so it should be quite the soiree."

"We're going to do toasts and some desserts before the band goes on, so everyone needs to try to be there by ten thirty." Katie told them, and Ron's attention to the conversations around the table waxed and waned as he made his way through the meal set out before him.

Ron was contemplating the best way to get to the remaining kippers, which were on Ginny's end of the table. He'd have to move fast or she'd gobble them all up. Which, Ron thought, was doing her a service really, as with each little Potter she popped out, she was looking more and more like their mother. He moved around the table, ignoring Ginny's sour glare as he forked the remaining kippers onto his plate. He'd just sat down, added a few fried eggs to his plate and taken a large bite of the kippers, when a quick snatching movement and a squeak of protest drew his attention to his wife and Hermione.

Luna had plucked Hermione's water glass out of her hand and set it on the bench between Ron and herself. She pulled her handbag up from the ground onto her lap, fishing out that old goatskin water bag she always lugged to the Burrow and using it to refill Hermione's glass. Something about the water tasting funny, he recalled. He'd told her that the Burrow water tasted perfectly fine to him and that his parents and all his siblings drank it and were very healthy, and that Ginny and all her kids were fine, too, but Luna had just smiled, kissed his cheek and continued packing the strange water bag every Sunday.

"Luna, really, that's not necessary," Hermione was saying in a hushed voice, the apples of her cheeks flushing, "There's nothing like that going on."

"It can't hurt to be cautious," Luna whispered back, putting away the waterskin and returning Hermione's glass, "What with the way this is turning out, he may whisk you away to Paris on a whim and, what with the French wine and the Seine and berets and tiny mustaches, you may succumb to the romance of it all and then you'll be thanking me."

"Who's whisking her away to Paris?" Ron said, frowning as much as was possible with a mouth full of fried egg.

"Oh its nothing, luv." Luna dismissed, but he caught the brief flash of panic that crossed Hermione's face when he'd spoken.

"Are you dating somebody, Mione?" Ron blurted out in surprise. She flinched at his question, looking past him, cheeks burning a painful red, and he followed her gaze, instantly regretting his exclamation. He'd apparently spoken loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone present, and they were now all staring at her with interest.

"What's this? Got a new fellow, Mione?" George queried as he and Fred grinned wickedly at her.

"Oooh, really?" Ginny piped up, almost bouncing in her seat, "How exciting! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Anyone we know?" Percy joined in curiously.

Hermione seemed to attempt a response, but nothing happened when she opened her mouth. She looked helplessly at Luna, who just shook her head with wide eyes, and turned to glare menacingly at her husband.

"Leave her alone, you lot. It's none of your business." Bill said coldly and Ron felt a surge of fiendish glee in his stomach as Bill shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Oh stuff it, Bill." Fred dismissed, still looking intently at Hermione. "Who is he? Would any of us have been friends with him at Hogwarts?"

"Er… well, erm-…no," she said carefully, her cheeks still very red, "I'm quite certain none of you have ever been friends with him, then or now."

"Has it been going on long, dear?" Molly asked with a smile, obviously too pleased by the news that Hermione was dating again, to restrain her curiosity.

"Um… well, no, not long."

"Is it serious?" Ginny chirped girlishly.

"Well, no. That's why I hadn't said anything, really. There's only been one proper date. There's not really much to tell."

"How did you meet him?"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Where did you go?"

"When can we meet him?"

"I think that's quite enough." Harry snapped suddenly, looking worriedly at Hermione's harried expression, and glancing at Ron, who nodded in agreement, "You don't have to say anything, Mione. Just ignore them."

"Like a bunch of busybody old hens. Shameful, really." Ron scolded, frowning at first Fred and George, and then Ginny.

"Aww, we didn't mean any harm," Fred said apologetically, tossing Hermione a wolfish smirk that made her smile shyly. "Just making sure you don't go off and do something scandalous. Ruin all of our reputations just for associating with you."

"Yeah," George joined in, giving her a mad grin, "You must maintain some standards, luv. No going about, carrying on torrid affairs with monks or smelly vagrants."

"Or pirates

"Lepers."

"Shepherds."

"Carnies."

"Cave trolls."

"Ew." Ron grimaced.

"Talk about a love that dare not speak its name." Hermione said, amused at Ron's apparent disgust. Only Bill chuckled, giving her a small smile, before turning to Fleur who was fussing with a snag on his jumper. The others simply stared blankly at her for a moment, before Fred and George started in again on talk of the upcoming party. Ron watched her sigh and listen half-heartedly to the twins rave about the Maori rock band they were hiring for the occasion, as she pushed the food around on her plate with her fork. Ron wasn't feeling particularly hungry anymore either. Merlin, sometimes he just wanted to strangle Bill. No… strangulation was too good for Bill, Ron thought as he stared sullenly at his uneaten kippers. Maybe string him up in a tree by that prissy little ponytail of his and let the local kids have a go at him with a stick.

After fifteen minutes of listening to Fred and George regale them with stories of how the band had once been arrested for leading a conga line of 400 drunken miscreants out onto the streets of Diagon Alley at four in the morning, Hermione cast a quick Scourgify on her plate and leaned over to speak to Ron and Luna.

"I'm going to head out now. Luna maybe we can have lunch tomorrow or Tuesday?"

"Hey, you're not upset about what these blighters were jabbering on about, are you?" Ron said softly, reaching over to give her hand a squeeze.

"No, no. I'm fine. Really," she assured him, waving her hand dismissively, "I'll be out of town a few days this week, so there are a few things I need to… attend to this afternoon. Luna, I'll owl you later." Hermione made her way around the table, saying her goodbyes and promising Fred and George she would be there next Saturday. She even managed a polite smile and nod at Bill and Fleur, before Apparating out.

"Any possibility I might convince you to tell me what she's up to?" Ron said with a lopsided grin, as he slipped his around his wife's shoulders.

"Not a chance in hell, Ronald." She smiled and leaned in to peck him on the lips.

* * *

Draco was enraptured by the sight of her hurrying down the pavement towards him, wild curls tossing about her head in rhythm with her steps. She jogged across the street, grinning when she caught sight of him. Damn, he thought, resisting the urge to lick his lips. She probably had no idea what a sexy little kitten she was in blue jeans and a tight, faded concert tee.

"You're late Rabbit." He said with a smirk when she reached him, "Forget your gloves? Need a new pocket watch, perhaps?"

"My sincerest apologies, your Majesty. There was a Jabberwocky, I swear. Pray, don't cut off my head." she teased, reaching up to brush stray curls out of her eyes and smiling at him.

"Hmph. Well, while I'm certain the Headless Hunt would be ecstatic to have such a delightful addition to their ranks, I suppose I can be lenient this time. Though, you'd best pay closer mind to the time in the future, Cinderella. I turn into a gourd and six white mice if I'm kept waiting too long."

"Is that so? It's only fair to warn you then that I have one very hungry cat, as well as two best friends who have something of a distaste for small hairy creatures."

"Are you implying that they are averse to… ferrets, perhaps?" he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Well, primarily rats, but I'm sure ferrets aren't far down the list." she laughed. "So where is this alleged bookstore I've shamefully never been to?"

"Just down this way a bit." Draco said, nodding in the direction of the store, giving her a playful nudge as they slowly began making their way down the pavement. "So tell me, Babbette. How was the feast? Have fun with the merry band of Weasels and all their little Weevil children?"

* * *

They meandered leisurely through the tall, crowded stacks of Bleeker Street Books. Hermione was enchanted by the dark, carved woodwork of the bookshelves, and was constantly stopping to look up and admire the painted panels affixed to the ceiling. Draco had explained that they were contributed by local artists over the years, whilst looking hungrily at her neck as she tilted her head upwards to examine the nearest one.

It was an effort to hold himself in check. Draco wanted so badly to touch her. He longed to kiss the line of her jaw as they whispered about the merits of Muggle photography as an art form while browsing through a large black and white book. He admired the long, slim lines of her legs in those jeans when she reached up for a book of Blaue Reiter prints, itching to rest his hands on her hips and lean over her shoulder as she flipped through it. When she bent down to a low shelf to examine some travel writing books, he ached to kneel behind her and rub himself against her backside. And yet, when she got choked up talking about how she'd read Remarque over and over again after her parents had been killed, all the tension and apprehension he felt were forgotten and he ghosted his hand along the line of her wrist, before slipping his fingers into hers and tugging her gently towards the section of children's books near the windows.

Allowing her to compose herself, he led her among the brightly colored rows of picture books, her hand small and warm in his.

"Have you read many children's books, as well?" she asked giving him a small smile.

Draco stopped and looked down at her, standing so close she had to crane her neck upwards to see him properly. He watched her intently for a moment, then bent his head and kissed her. His mouth moved slowly and gently against hers, and he felt lightheaded when she sighed and leaned into him.

"A fair few." he whispered, pulling away.

"Huh?" she said breathily, dazed eyes still fixed on his mouth.

"You asked if I'd read many children's books," he smirked, "I said I've read a fair few. You?"

"Huh… oh-…Are you kidding? I read everything I could get my hands on as a girl," she turned away from him, reaching out to trace the spines of the nearest books with her fingertips. "My schoolmates used to get in trouble for skiving off classes. I'd get in trouble for staying out too late at the library."

"Ah yes, I've heard of your sort. Library delinquents are the worst sort of miscreant. Just a step above public drunks and crack whores." This time he did step up behind her, resting one hand lightly on her hip, "So my little book junkie, which was your favorite fix as a girl?"

Hermione tossed him an exasperated look. "That's the worst sort of question. Like asking a painter to choose his favorite color."

"If you wanted feeble-minded questions you'd have stayed at the Weasel buffet. Pick one, Granger."

She huffed a little, but leaned back into him as her eyes skimmed the titles on the shelves before them.

"This one, then." she said, plucking one from the shelves and handing it to him.

" 'Matilda.' " He read out, turning the little book over in his hands. "Why this one?"

"I always felt we had a lot in common, Matilda and I. Even before I got my Hogwarts letter."

"Is that so? I suppose I'll just have to read it then. Get a few insights into that mind of yours." he smirked tucking the book under his arm and taking her hand again, "Come on, I want to show you something."

"The owner of this store," Draco explained, as he led her to the back of the store, up a narrow flight of stairs and down a dark hallway to a locked door, "does some private trading in rare books and materials. This," he said, flicking his wand at the door and pushing it open, "is where he keeps his goodies."

It was a small room with three walls lined with shelves and glass book cases, each filled to the brim with delicate paper treasures, all of it illuminated by a line of high paneled windows that overlooked the busy street below. She gasped as she stepped through the doorway, pretty lips parting as she looked around her. Draco was suddenly inundated with images of himself pinning her up against the shelves, hearing her gasp his name in the same manner she just had, as he fucked her hard against the stacks of old books. He shook his head, clearing it of the tempting thoughts, as he closed the door behind him and moved to help her open one of the little glass cases.

* * *

They sat on the old hard wood floor of the tiny room surrounded by a number of rare first editions, yellowing letters and marked-up manuscript submissions. Draco had an 18th century novel with hand-tipped illustrations open on his lap, but he ignored it in favor of watching Hermione reverently read through an obscure French author's old love letters.

"I just can't believe all this," she said giddily, carefully securing the small bundle of letters and reaching behind her to replace them on one of the shelves. "However, did you find this place?"

"My friend, the Neruda fan. The owner had gotten his hands on a couple of his letters, and when my friend came to look them over, he brought me along. I've been sneaking in ever since."

"Larceny, trespassing… you really may be a bad influence on me."

"The antics of your school days would be proof enough to exonerate me of any liability, I'm sure."

She stuck her tongue out at him and pulled the book off his lap, "I feel like a little child locked up in a toy store after hours. Free reign to touch anything I want." she said dreamily, looking down to examine the page he had open.

"Does that apply to me as well, Granger?" he cocked an eyebrow, looking at her with interest. She looked back at him thoughtfully for a moment, then rested her weight on the palms of her hands and she leaned towards him. Her pouty mouth paused a hair's breadth away from his, teasing him with a ghost of kiss, before pressing her lips against his.

He removed the book from her lap, mouth never leaving hers as he set it aside, then reached for her waist, pulling her closer to sit between his legs. Draco took her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging on it till she parted her lips, and he swept his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. Merlin, how did she melt all his control, he thought, as he struggled to keep his hands from roaming freely all over her body. He pulled his lips from hers to press hot sucking kisses along her jaw and down the line of her neck, breathing in the faint trace of lavender soap on her skin.

"Granger," he breathed between kisses, "London Wizarding Opera is opening La Traviata next weekend. Come with me."

"Yes… yes," she whispered, as he found a spot just beneath her jaw that made her breath hitch, "Wait… when?"

"Saturday. Curtain goes up at seven. We can have dinner before if you'd like," he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

"I- I don't know, I'm supposed to be at a party by ten thirty," she said, pulling away to look at him, but he followed her, leaning in to kiss her again.

"I'll have you home by ten fifteen. You can be fashionably late. Please," he whispered, smiling against her lips when she nodded her head in assent. Reluctantly, he let her go, pulling her with him as he moved to stand up. Draco flicked his wand at the books and papers scattered on the floor, and they immediately rearranged themselves in their former places.

"Let's get a move on then. We'll pay for this and then go have a drink," he winked at her, clutching the little children's book in one of his hands and hers in his other.

* * *

Author's Notes/References: Apologies for the longer than normal wait between updates. I'm on the cusp of a thousand mile move from home for school, and I've been busy. No worries, I will keep updating, just a bit irregularly until my life settles back into place. Someone suggested an email list to notify readers when I do update. Anyone interested? Also, someone nominated me in the Smut category over at Dramione. I'm terribly flattered especially as I haven't even gotten to the smutty bits yet : ) Keep your eyes out for the next chapter, as we should have a taste of that then. I will try to post the Dramione link in my profile. You should check it out, some of my favorite stories are nominated there in various categories, including a few by fellow FF authors. Thanks for all the great feedback, readers! Please continue reviewing!

_Finnegan's Wake_ is a novel by Irish author, James Joyce. Yes, I deliberately misspelled it in the story. Can you guess why? On a side note, I once had a professor who, while discussing James Joyce, said, "Anyone who claims to have read Finnegan's Wake, is lying to you." I have always found that funny.

Though often credited to Oscar Wilde, the famous line "the love that dare not speak its name" is actually from a poem called _Two Loves_ by Wilde's lover, Lord Alfred Douglas. I believe it was originally meant to refer to homosexuality, but I felt it could suitably apply to cave troll lovin', as well as Draco and Hermione's relationship should it come to light among various Weasleys and Potters : )

Gloves. Rabbits. Pocket watch. Jabberwocky. I had to get my requisite Wonderland references in. _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ and _Through the Looking-Glass_ are children's books written by British author, Lewis Carroll.

_Babette's Feast_ is a story written by Danish author Karen Blixen, under the penname Isak Dinesen. Yes, I love her. I think Ron would, too.

Erich Remarque was a German author who wrote a novel called _All Quiet on the Western Front_. This is the one I intended for Hermione to be referring to. It is a wrenching and beautifully written account of an idealistic German youth encountering the realities of World War I.

_Matilda _is a children's book by British author Roald Dahl.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: OK readers, as I have stated from the beginning, this story is going to include sexual situations. This is the first chapter to contain an encounter of a sexual nature. DO NOT proceed if that sort of thing offends you. Otherwise, enjoy! 

Post Hogwarts: A chance encounter with Hermione Granger in a Muggle café leaves Draco Malfoy aching for more. D/Hr. Disregards HBP. Mentions of BW/Hr, H/G and R/L.

_**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would jet to Hong Kong and treat myself to a feast of gourmet Asian cuisine. Unfortunately, I do not. J.K. Rowling does, and I must resign myself to eating cold lo mein from a take-out box. Yum. Though, I suspect that all of JKR's money would not be able to buy the answer to the question of why cold lo mein tastes better if eaten with your fingers. It is simply one of the great mysteries of the universe.**_

Tin Angel

Chapter 5

"This one is very pretty." Luna said, pulling another dress from the rack and holding it up for Hermione to see. "And you've always looked lovely in blue."

Hermione turned from the row of gowns she'd been sifting through to look over the pale blue dress Luna held out, her eyes growing very wide as she noticed the cut of the dress. "Luna!" she gasped, "It has no back. Or much of a front, for that matter. It's more a negligee than a dress."

"I doubt Malfoy would mind much." Luna purred dreamily, holding the dress up to Hermione and looking at her thoughtfully.

Hermione playfully batted the dress away. "Maybe," she admitted with a small bashful smile, "Though I'm sure he'd prefer that I it wore on a somewhat more private occasion than the opera. Honestly, I need something more formal. Its opening night and seeing as its Malfoy, he's sure to have one of the best boxes. It'll be bad enough if word gets round to Harry and Ron that I was seen there with him. Imagine how tongues will wag if I show up looking like a complete slag, as well."

"Then you'll just inform those boys that, not only are you old enough to go out all tarted-up whenever you like, but that you can bloody well be friends with whomever you please." Luna said serenely, replacing the scrap of a dress back on the rack and moving to look through another row.

"Luna, you know as well as I do that those two use up every iota of reason between them to work out the odds on Fred and George's Quidditch pool. If there was a scrap left over I doubt they'd allot it to Malfoy." Hermione sighed, "If they find out they'll slaughter him. And I'll be packed off to a nunnery."

"Or locked in a tower… or forced to join that underground cult of Artemis devotees." Luna added, silently musing that they'd probably murder Bill too, for ever letting it come to this. Sometimes she couldn't help but agree that it might be better for the wizardkind if Bill didn't procreate. That he would let Hermione go was evidence enough for Luna that Bill was among the ranks of fools who lived in this world.

Hermione had begun hoping for Bill to propose after the second year of their relationship. Ginny and Luna had been certain that it wouldn't be long before Bill finally worked up the nerve, and they'd tried to convince Hermione to go look at diamond rings with them, but Hermione had explained that Bill disapproved of the corruption surrounding the African diamond mining industry and refused to buy diamonds. She'd dreamily told them that Bill had once said that when the time came, he'd get her an ancient faience ring carved with the hieroglyphs for love, in honor of all the time they'd spent together in Egypt.

Luna remembered the day that, after years of patiently waiting and watching friend-after-friend marry and start families, Hermione had appeared on her doorstep, grinning and beaming and practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. She'd explained that she had been putting away Bill's clean socks and had found a small jewelry box tucked among them; a carved, pale-blue faience ring nestled within it. Hermione had glowed with happiness in the weeks and months that followed, and Luna grew into the habit of glancing at Hermione's finger every time she saw her, in hopes that the ring would have disappeared from it's home among Bill's socks and resettled on her friend's hand.

Nowadays, especially when Hermione was having a difficult time because of some thoughtless thing Bill and Fleur did or said, Luna couldn't help but wonder about the fate of that little blue ring; lost or sold, perhaps, when Bill and Hermione's relationship had come to an abrupt end.

Not long after Bill and Fleur had gotten engaged, Luna had run into them while shopping in Diagon Alley. They'd spotted her and come over to say hello, not realizing she was with Hermione. Her poor friend's bottom lip began to tremble when she spotted the large, sparkling diamond ring on Fleur's finger, and Luna had nodded at them and taken Hermione's hand, quickly leading her away to a quiet corner and hugging her tightly when quiet sobs shook her body. Despite all Luna's efforts to persuade her husband to drop his hostility to his older brother, some days she couldn't help but hate him herself.

"This one!" Luna gasped excitedly, interrupting her own musings and pulling a gown of the palest pink from a row and holding it up for Hermione to see.

"It's beautiful." Hermione whispered fingering the fine silk of the gown's skirts. "But it's strapless," she added, biting her lip nervously, "I really don't have much to hold it up."

"Trust me, when it costs this much, it'll hold up just fine." Luna slipped the gown into Hermione's arms and began pushing her towards the fitting rooms.

"So," Luna began, once she'd shoved Hermione and the dress behind the drapery of one of the changing stalls, "He's picking you up in a carriage. Won't your Muggle neighbors think that's rather odd?"

"It's charmed so they won't notice it," came Hermione's muffled reply, "Like the Ministry or the Knight Bus. The whole thing seems silly to me, but he insisted."

"It may be a bit dramatic, even for Malfoy, but you must admit it's terribly romantic of him."

"He's not doing it to be romantic. All the wealthiest families use them. Old money nonsense, really."

"I suppose it is a little excessive. Wouldn't it be faster to simply Apparate?"

"That's precisely the point, actually. It's a statement. Like saying that they're so rich they needn't concern themselves with rushing about on common business. They can afford to take as long as they please."

"Well… at least you can have a good snog on the way there." Luna mused, her dreamy eyes widening even more as Hermione emerged from the fitting room, "Or maybe a quick shag… "

The gown was beautiful in its simplicity; the fitted boning of the bodice complimented Hermione's delicate frame, and the fullness of the skirt was perfectly suited to her stature. Her skin looked creamy and luminous against the fine, pale-pink silk, and Luna couldn't help but think that Malfoy would have trouble resisting the urge to touch her all night long.

"You look delicious in that dress." Luna said honestly. "He won't know what to do with himself."

"I want him to like it," Hermione conceded quietly, giving Luna a bashful look and biting her lip nervously, "I like him more and more every time I see him. He just has a… I don't know… soulfulness that's so unexpected."

"Or it could be the fact that he's a right sexy devil and you can't wait to hop in his trousers." Luna said calmly, smiling at Hermione's laughter, "And speaking of trousers, I'd wager he looks quite smart in a fine set of dress robes."

"You know, Luna" Hermione admitted, her eyes sparkling, "I don't know what it is about that man, but when he touches me… Merlin, I just melt. All my inhibitions and the ability to think or even speak just slip away. All he has to do is kiss me or touch my skin and I'm completely at his mercy. A couple of kisses and few snide remarks and I'd probably let him shag me up against the balcony of our box."

"Hmm… I suppose it would be a grandiose farewell to life." Luna mused, thoughtfully, "Best make it good if you do, because the Prophet wouldn't even wait for next week's gossip column. They'd plaster you all over Sunday's front page. In fact if Parvati has any say, they might even print a special edition tonight. Something with a really dishy headline," Luna paused, squinting her eyes in thought, before nodding and sweeping her hand dramatically in the air in front of her, " 'OPERA UPSTAGED BY BALCONY ACROBATICS: POTTER'S BEST FRIEND SHAGS SEXY EVIL GIT DURING FIRST ACT.' Anyhow, while I fully support you if you are inclined to shag Malfoy, I think it best if you refrain from any public displays of randyness. If Harry and Ron get any word of this, Malfoy had better hope they both die from the shock of it, or else there'll be a mob of Weasley's and Harry out for his blood."

* * *

I'm a dead man, Draco thought as he helped Hermione settle beside him in the carriage. Her hair was pulled into a simple, elegant knot at the nape of her neck, exposing the creamy skin of her neck and shoulders, which seemed to glow against the pale silk of her gown. She looked like ice cream in July. Draco wanted to run his tongue over every inch of that skin, certain she would taste sweeter than any confection ever sold in Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour. This is going to be a long night, he sighed inwardly, shifting a little to ease the sudden ache in his trousers, before leaning into her and brushing his lips against hers.

"Little girls shouldn't go about at night without their proper riding hoods," he whispered, reaching up to trace one finger along the line of her jaw and down her neck to her exposed collarbones, "Wolves are easily tempted."

"There may be a wolf or two whose clutches I don't mind so much." she murmured back, giving him a coy smile.

"Is that so? Whatever would Grandmother say?"

"A great many things, I'm sure, but little that might convince me to stay out of the woods." She leaned up to press a gentle kiss against his mouth and one of his hands settled on her waist, holding her to him as he attempted to assuage the blood roiling in his veins by returning her chaste, delicate kisses. Gods, she made it nearly impossible for him to keep his resolve to move slowly with her.

He'd not seen her since dinner the Tuesday before and he found himself distracted and distant in the few days she'd been traveling for work. His mind wandered to thoughts of her constantly while at the office, and during the Arrows game he had endured a number of sly digs from Blaise about his resemblance to a starry-eyed first-year who'd just met the great Harry Potter. Draco's threats to hex him had done little to put him off his needling. An adroit intimation that he might slosh his mug of ale down the front of the couture trousers Blaise had just procured from Milan had been far more effective.

He pulled her a little closer, enjoying the contrast of the cool silky gown and the warmth of her pouty little lips, savoring the feel of her now and knowing he'd have to do his best not to touch her once they arrived at the opera house. One false move in public view and her little lapdogs would be on his trail in a heartbeat, rearing to rip out his throat.

* * *

When Draco led Hermione into the lobby of the London Wizarding Opera House, the house lights had already begun their first series of warning flashes and most of the crowds had already gone to take their seats. He'd told the carriage driver to delay as long as possible, wanting to enjoy the first half of the opera with Hermione at his side and put off the inquest of curious socialites at least until intermission.

"I hope you aren't too disappointed at missing the Opening night peacock parade." Draco said with a smirk as he led her up the grand staircase to reach their box.

"Why, Malfoy, I'd have thought you had a good enough eye to recognize a peacock when you saw one." Hermione scoffed playfully, before leaning in and whispering conspiratorially, "This crowd is actually a bevy of vultures done up in green and blue feathers. All the screeching gives them away."

"All the same, isn't the flock of bitties at the Weasel hen-house relying on you to inform them of the latest fashions?" Draco teased, as they reached the top of the staircase and an usher moved to show them to their box. "From what I've seen of them, it would almost be cruel of you, Granger, not to impart a little of your wisdom to improve their wardrobes. Obviously they've forgone the latest issues of Witch Weekly to buy feed for their ever expanding brood of chicks."

Hermione laughed and swatted at his arm, "For such a high society playboy, you certainly know quite a bit about the activities of poultry, Farmer Malfoy."

"A little discretion if you please, Granger. If I wanted everyone to know about my hobbies, I wouldn't have left my pitchfork in the carriage."

"Are you sure the pitchfork isn't implicating certain other activities, Malfoy? Hiding a pointed tail beneath those coat tails, perhaps?"

Gods, he thought, unable to stop himself from leaning into her and whispering, "I can take it out if you like Granger. Show you all the interesting tricks it can do."

She blushed visibly, pretty lips parting in surprise at his implication. He merely smirked at her and followed the usher to the doorway of their box.

"You're other guests have already arrived, sir." The usher informed them, holding the curtain open so they could pass through.

"Guests?" Hermione turned a questioning look at Draco. "Who… " she began, but they were already walking into the box and she turned nervously to the two figures already seated within.

"Draco. Hello!" the tall, thin man stood to greet them, followed quickly by his female companion.

"Teddy." Draco returned, shaking his hand before turning to Hermione. "Hermione, you remember Teddy Nott from school, don't you?"

Teddy smiled and turned to the woman seated just in front of him. "This is my wife, Joanna. Joanna, this is Hermione Granger. She was Head Girl in my class at Hogwarts."

"Oh, call me Jo. Everyone does." the small brunette woman said, holding out her hand and smiling warmly at Hermione, who visibly relaxed at the other woman's friendly demeanor. Draco helped Hermione into her seat at the front of the box beside Jo, who immediately began chatting to her about how pleased she was that Draco had offered them the extra tickets and commenting on the loveliness of the gilded ceiling and grandeur of the stage and the rows upon row of plush velvet lined boxes.

Teddy glanced at Hermione with interest, but said nothing in regards to her presence with Draco, merely going on about the offensive strategies the Arrows had been employing this season. Draco quickly tuned him out in favor of staring at the smooth skin at the nape of Hermione's neck, wanting to run his fingers up along the line of her back to caress her just below the sleek knot of her hair. Or maybe just attach his mouth to the spot. Mar its smooth creamy perfection with deep red marks of possession.

As the lights went down and the director took the stage to introduce the new production, Draco leaned down to whisper in her ear, unable to resist a gentle nip at the tender skin of her lobe, before murmuring, "How do you like the Opera House, Granger? I bet those Weasels could sell off a few of their younglings and come with us next time. I'm sure they'd piss their pants at a chance to leave that rabbit-hole they claim for a house. What do they call it? The Hovel?"

She smirked, sensing his jibes were only excuses to attempt to touch her without anyone being the wiser. She turned her head toward his, her lips just barely grazing his as she leaned up to reach his ear. "The Burrow," she sighed, as he sucked gently at her lobe, "And I like the opera house just fine, though its not the best I've ever seen."

"No?" he whispered, tracing the inner shell of her ear with his tongue.

"No. Palais Garnier. In Paris." Her voice was breathy as his warm tongue explored the cool skin of her ear, "My parents took me there when I was younger. To see _Le Lac des Cygnes_. Even without magic it was marvelous."

"Really? Perhaps you should whisk me there for our next date."

"Do you enjoy a good whisking?" she asked, pulling away to give him a mischievous smile.

"As long as you aren't too rough. I'm a delicate boy."

She slowly looked him up and down, then arched one skeptical brow before turning to the stage as the first notes of music rang out.

* * *

The whole experience had been sensory overload. The music, the singing, the champagne at intermission. And especially Hermione herself. He'd been aching all night as he took in her loveliness. At intermission, she'd stood along the railing overlooking the grand staircase, chatting to Teddy and Jo about the immense blown-glass Viennese chandelier that was suspended by charms in the open air of the lobby. Dozens of white camellia blossoms were set adrift in large glass bowls filled with water that drifted lazily about the room and Hermione had fingered one of the glossy flowers as a bowlfloated by, her skin glowing in the flickering light of the thousands of enchanted fireflies that fluttered about the room.

Draco had given up caring what Teddy and Jo might think at that point, and had pressed a gentle kiss to the skin just under her jaw. She'd paused a moment, then forced herself to keep talking to the other couple as Draco rested one hand on her hip and traced a finger up and down the silk beneath his touch.

They'd left the opera just as the curtain went down, skipping the ovations in favor of trying to get Hermione back to her flat in time to make Fred and George's party. As they climbed into the carriage, Draco felt himself teetering on the edge of control, watching as she sat next to him, leaning back against the seat and smiled dreamily at him.

"That really was lovel… " she began, but he cut her off by resting one hand against her jaw, tilting it upwards so he could press his eager mouth to her lips. He took advantage of her gasp of surprise, slipping his tongue deeply into her mouth and stroking it hungrily against hers. The sweet relief he'd sought after hours of temptation was nowhere to be found, and Draco's desire for her simply built on itself and he greedily pulled her more tightly against him, stoking the bare skin of her back and shoulders as he ravaged her mouth.

His brain screamed for him to stop, that he was going to screw everything up, but he found himself helpless to stop his hungry hands from grabbing her about the waist and dragging her onto his lap, settling her knees on either side of his hips, so that she straddled him and the skirts of her gown pooled around them like pale, pink sea foam caught in a tide pool. Oh Gods, he thought, relishing the feel of her smooth skin beneath his hands, the taste of her mouth, his chest constricting at the inevitable prospect of losing her so soon from his recklessness; but then he was hit with the sudden realization that she had slipped her arms around his neck; that she was kissing him back with equal fervor. Draco grasped her about the shoulders and wrenched her away from him, staring into her large eyes and finding them hazy and dark with the same lust that consumed him. Relief flooded through him, followed quickly by a fresh wave of need for her, and he leaned in to press his mouth to hers again, nipping at her delicious bottom lip. 

Moving more slowly now, he ran his hands up and down the slope of her back, skimming over silk and skin as his tongue explored the warmth of her mouth. Her arms tightened around his neck, the touch of her fingertips raising gooseflesh on the exposed skin just above his collar. He withdrew from her lips to place wet, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, hearing her sigh as his hands moved to trace along the sides of her torso: hips to waist to the juncture of her shoulder blades, and back again.

"Sweet Merlin," he moaned against the skin of her neck, "… 'Body of a woman.' "

She shivered, tilting her head to the side to give him better access to the curve of her neck, and he sucked hard against her flesh to leave a mark, knowing she recognized his words.

" 'White hills,' " he murmured, moving his hands leisurely downwards along her torso, this time extending his thumbs to caress the outer curve of her breasts. His thumbs fidgeted with the bodice of her gown, pressing it down just enough to expose the pale, pink tips of her nipples and he slowly kissed a trail from her clavicle to her breast, hearing her gasp when he began to lave at it, rolling the hard little peak between his tongue and his teeth.

As he suckled at her breast, his right hand made a slow trek down along her waist, pausing at her hip before slipping beneath the gathered folds of her dress, and settling on her knee.

" 'White thighs,' " Draco whispered, the fingers of his right hand tracing patterns along the cool skin of her leg.

He pulled away from her for a moment, eyes roving over her, taking in her features. The flush of her skin. The rapid, shallow rise and fall of her chest. The plumpness of her pretty lips, parted and swollen from his kisses. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers, his lips just barely grazing her own.

" 'You look like a world, lying in surrender.' " he whispered against her mouth.

" 'Body of skin,' " his right hand moved beneath her gown to trace the delicate lace of her knickers along her hip.

" 'Of moss,' " the fingers of his left hand ghosted over the fine, downy hairs at the nape of her neck.

" 'Of eager and firm milk.' " he bent his head to press tender kisses to the pink nipples that crested just above the bodice of her gown.

She was shivering; eyes shut and completely pliant to his touch. Beneath the folds of her skirt, Draco's fingers moved lightly along the hem of her knickers, slowly working his way down to brush against the damp, heated lace that covered her center.

" 'Dark river beds, where the eternal thirst flows,' " he stroked his finger upwards along the moist fabric, tracing the line of her folds and making her whimper in response.

" 'And weariness follows,' " his hands moved to rest on her hips, one touching hot, bare flesh; the other, cool, smooth silk.

" 'And the infinite ache.' " he moaned, grasping her hips and grinding her down against the hard flesh throbbing in his trousers, his own hips thrusting up to meet her. She gasped, arching her back and her fingers slid up from their hold around his neck to tangle in the silky stands of his pale hair as she began rocking helplessly against him.

Too soon, too soon, Draco thought, his mind desperately flashing him warnings of the potential dangers of taking this much too far too fast. The last remnants of his control were slipping, and she seemed to have given herself over completely to the hours of tension and innuendo that had gone on between them. Gods, he wanted her so badly. Touching, he bartered with himself. Just touching.

Hermione stilled her movement as his right hand slid from her hip to the lace of her knickers, pausing only a moment before pushing them aside and moving to stroke the warm, slippery folds within. She mewled in approval as two of his fingers found her swollen nub and traced circles around it.

"Gods," Draco rasped, feeling her begin to undulate slightly as he pleasured her, "you feel amazing, baby." He moved his two fingers lower along her sex, pushing them into her tight heat, the pad of his thumb moving to continue the slow, teasing strokes over her swollen nub. Eyes shut tight, drawing short, hitching breaths, Hermione pushed more insistently against his fingers, moving against them.

Draco's eyes were momentarily drawn to the window of the carriage when they went over a bump, noticing that they had reached Chelsea and would be soon be approaching her flat. He pressed his free left hand to her waist, urging her to move faster, as the houses and trees raced by outside the carriage.

He couldn't stop himself from moaning, his arousal straining painfully against his trousers, as he relished the feel of her warmth sliding over his hand, "Merlin, baby, how do you make me want you so badly?" Draco watched her writhe above him, moaning wantonly as she moved against his palm. He couldn't help but wonder if she would shag him with the same shameless abandon with which she was riding his fingers.

"Harder," he urged, moving his head to lave at the nipples that were bobbing so tantalizingly in front of his face. She gripped his shoulders tightly, gasping and pressing harder against him and he knew she was getting close.

"Hurry." Draco whispered against her neck as the carriage turned onto the street next to hers, "Come on, my little lioness. Purr for me." She cried out, arching her back as her release broke over her and Draco wrapped his left arm tightly against her waist, clutching her tightly to him as the walls of her center fluttered spasmodically around the fingers of his right hand.

When it subsided, Hermione leaned weakly against his shoulder, smiling drowsily at him as he pressed little kisses to her nose and forehead, whispering about how lovely she was and relishing these last few moments of holding her so intimately in his arms.

With a joint effort of trembling fingers, they managed to adjust the bodice of Hermione's gown just as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of her flat. Shakily, she pulled herself off of his lap and sat back wearily on the seat beside him. He leaned over to press a gentle kiss to her forehead for a moment, than bent his head and claimed her mouth with his own. 

"Go on. You'll be late for the Weasel party. I'll owl you in the morning." he whispered against her lips, as the driver opened the carriage door. She took the driver's proffered hand and stepped carefully down onto the pavement.

As the driver made his way back up to the front of the carriage to take the reins, Draco peered out of the little window, watching Hermione. She stood halfway up the walk to her flat, staring at the carriage, looking lovely and completely unruffled in her pale pink gown, save for the glazed, unfocused look of her eyes and the helpless way she shivered despite the warm night. The carriage gave a lurch, pulling away from the curb, and she turned and hurried up to the entry of the building.

"Sweet Merlin." Draco moaned, his left hand tearing desperately at the fastenings of his trousers. With fumbling fingers he managed to rip them open, yanking them down and freeing his throbbing erection. His right hand, still coated with a slick layer of her release, closed around the length of his shaft and he moaned at the feel of her wetness on his aching flesh. Draco began to stroke himself, his head lolling back on the edge of the seat as the sound of his moans filled cabin of the carriage.

* * *

Author's Notes/References: Sorry for the wait between updates. First, I moved 1000 miles from home, so that took up a bit of my time. Also, I've been talking to a number of friends about the degree of sexual explicitness to post on this site, and I have taken a little time to slightly soften the tone of this encounter from what I originally wrote. No major changes, mostly just a deletion or substitution of more graphic terms or phrases. If you are interested in seeing the chapter as I originally wrote it, visit Adult Fan Fictionnet.The story name and the author name are the same. Again, the changes are fairly minor. Hope you've been enjoying. Please do good by the author, and leave a review. Praise or constructive, we love to hear from you!

Palais Garnier is an opera house in Paris, France.

_Le Lac des Cygnes_ is simply Swan Lake, in French.

Draco quotes several lines from the first poem of Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda's book _Twenty Poems of Love and a Song of Despair_. The full poem can be found online, if you are interested. The lines I've used read as follows:

Poem 1: Body of a Woman

Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,  
you look like a world, lying in surrender.

Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk.

Dark River-beds where the eternal thirst flows  
and weariness follow, and the infinite ache.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the terribly long wait between updates. School has really been giving me a beating lately. Not to worry, though, Chapter 7 is well under way. Happy reading and PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW!

Post Hogwarts: A chance encounter with Hermione Granger in a Muggle café leaves Draco Malfoy aching for more. D/Hr with mentions of BW/Hr, H/G, and R/L. Disregards the events of HBP.

_**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would have bought myself a ticket to the Golden Globes to watch Hugh Laurie win for best actor and probably made a fool of myself by drooling all over him. Unfortunately for me, though probably good news for Hugh, JKR owns Harry Potter and I can't even afford a T.V. to watch the Golden Globes as all my money is being sucked up furthering my education. One day it'll pay off, and then, Hugh, it'll all be lovely and fine… **_

Tin Angel

6

The loose curls on the nape of her neck had long since drawn Draco's attention away from the man playing the Spanish guitar on the tiny stage of the little Muggle jazz club, the somber melody of the flamenco solea fading to the back of his consciousness as reached round the back of her chair to gently wind a honeyed strand of hair round and round on his finger.

He made a game of watching her grow accustomed to him toying with her hair, relaxing into her chair as she lost herself in the music. He would then run the pad of his finger lightly along the sensitive skin at the back of her neck, amused at how she would tense up, her eyes fluttering shut and shivering as his finger skimmed from her hairline to the collar of the airy little dress she wore.

He found her delightful.

And delicious.

At that thought, his finger dipped lower along her neck, tracing the light bruise he'd left there two nights ago. By then, the mark he'd left on her skin the night they'd seen La Traviata had nearly faded away, and he'd taken care to leave another in its stead. Draco liked seeing evidence of his desire for her upon her skin. Although, her friend Lovegood, it seemed, thought it rather too risky.

Hermione had scolded him playfully about it when they met for dinner Monday night. Apparently, Lovegood had intercepted her the moment she'd walked into the Weasel soiree and gaped at the sight of her. She'd immediately dragged a bewildered Hermione to the loo and shown her the dark love-bite Draco had left upon her neck, teasing her about having a wild snog with him in the opera house broom-closet before casting a quick concealment charm over the bruise.

When she'd told him this, he'd fought back a grin, sporting a petulant pout instead and asked her if she was ashamed of him. She'd just smirked and asked if he was really all that keen on having a hoard of drunken Weasleys and Potter out on the streets, eager for his blood. Draco had sobered quickly at that thought. No, he'd rather put off tangling with that Griffyndor lot over his presence in Hermione's life for as long as possible. Although, he had to admit, Lovegood seemed to be shaping up to be a potentially valuable ally in that regard.

When the guitarist finished up the solea and moved onto a sultry malaguena, Draco leaned in closer to her, breathing in the light scent of lavender soap on her skin and brushing his lips over the little bruise on her neck. She sighed as he scraped his teeth over the spot, murmuring something about Faustus trying to leech immortality with a suckling kiss as well. He snickered and pulled away, picking up his glass of wine from the table to sip at it, not bothering to mask the hunger in his eyes as he watched her.

"Was not Hermione the daughter of Helen of Troy? I thought it at least worth a try, Granger."

"She was. But I assure you, you won't find immortality here, much less a trace of Helen of Troy. My parents were thinking more along the lines of Shakespeare. Perdita's mother."

"Really? Doesn't she die in that play? It's an awfully morbid choice on the part of your parents." Draco mused.

"Well, they bring her back to life in the end, but yes, she dies horribly," she agreed, looking thoughtfully at her glass of wine, "It always bothered me as a child. As though there weren't plenty of perfectly good names in Shakespeare that had happier endings."

"Yes, but then everyone loves a good tragedy. Perhaps your parents assumed you'd be famous in some regard and wanted to give you a name worthy of an opera."

She cocked an eyebrow at him and gave a short laugh, "I think that may be pushing it a bit Malfoy," she said skeptically.

"No, really Granger, they may have had the right idea. Think about it," he said, moving closer to her, twining his fingers again in the loose curls at the back of her neck, "Once Potty and Weasel find out you've been letting me snog you, they'll both go stark raving, and then those two arses and their band of loyal redheads will corner us in Diagon Alley wielding various gardening tools and they'll force you to watch as I'm drawn and quartered. And after they've mounted my head on a pike over Gringotts, you'll be locked away in Griffyndor tower, where you'll go mad with longing for my rapacious wit and hurl yourself out over the ramparts. It'll make a spectacular opera one day, mark my words."

"That actually sounds eerily similar to something Luna said," she laughed, then sobered and pouted at him, "But why does my opera have to be a tragedy? All the operas about women are always so sad. Most of the men get to live with honorable suffering, or at least go down in a glorious sword fight. The women always die of grief or stab themselves through the heart."

"Surely there are a few good ones where the women don't meet horrible ends…" he started, but she cut him off.

"Not really. Think of all the famous ones you know. Violetta, Carmen, Isolde, Aida, Cio-Cio-San, Juliet, Mimi, Gilda… the list goes on and on."

"What about Brunnhilde? She makes it through _Die Walkure_." Draco offered, enjoying the rising color in her cheeks.

"Only to meet a fiery end later in _Gotterdammerung_."

"Then it seems the only solution would be to teach you to sing in a high enough pitch to make Potty and Weasel's heads explode. I'll even get you a spear and a horned helmet with some long braids attached, and you can trample all over their bodies upon your trusty steed."

"Well the spear and the helmet are all fine and good, Malfoy, but you are the one with the blond hair. Perhaps you should be the one sporting the long braids and… " she said slyly, but he silenced her by leaning in to nibble on her pretty bottom lip.

Merlin, but he did like this woman, he thought, struggling to keep the kiss decent enough for the smoky little Muggle club. They'd been out for dinner or drinks nearly every night in the past week, introducing each other to various favorite Muggle bars and cafes. It was easier this way. The could loose themselves in the Muggle world, enjoying each other's company without having to worry about anyone in the Wizarding world recognizing them and reporting back to the gossip mill.

Aside from the probable violence on the part of her friends should word get out, Draco feared that the idea of a very public relationship would scare her away. He'd cursed himself for letting things get so far in the carriage after the opera, then cursed himself again when she'd blushed furiously when he'd arrived to escort her to dinner Monday night. He had taken extra care this week not to let anything progress past playful teasing and heated snogs in the entryway of her building. It was difficult though. Her kisses were drugging and his mind would go hazy, his traitorous fingers itching to tear at her clothes and get at the bare, feverish skin within.

"We should get going if we want to make it in and out of that Dawntreader bar at a decent hour," he whispered against her lips, before pulling away and smirking at her, "We wouldn't want you to oversleep and miss your Bungalow Brunch obligations, now would we?"

"I suppose." she murmured, gazing intently at his mouth for a moment before shaking herself and reaching for her bag and sweater, "Actually, they'll be very upset with me if I miss it. Society pages for last weekend come out tomorrow and Fred and George will want as many people around as possible to hear them gloat if their party gets top mentions."

"Those two have always been shameless attention mongers." Draco snorted, dropping a few bills on the table for their waitress and offering Hermione his arm, "Though, I'd wager most of our society mavens would sell their firstborn sons to find out how those two get so much coverage."

"With all the events and openings you attend, I'd think you'd scramble to sign up for that lecture as well." she said smugly as he led her out into the cool night air.

"Come now, Granger, you know that's all just publicity for my company. I'd live the life of a shy hermit if Blaise didn't insist I make appearances… what?" he said, as she threw her head back and laughed.

"Nothing, I just had this wonderful picture of you with dirty, matted hair, grunting around in some dilapidated cabin wearing nothing but a loincloth and raving about Ubermensch." she hiccupped, merrily.

"Do you often think of me in nothing but a loincloth?" he remarked, turning to give her a mischievous grin when she stopped walking and looked at him strangely. Her eyes flicked down to his groin and the blush that spread across her cheeks made the breath catch in his throat and he felt slightly dizzy as all the blood in his body seemed to rush southwards. With a speed he didn't know he possessed, he'd tugged her behind the garden wall of one of the little houses that lined the street, pressing her up against the bricks and sweeping his tongue into her mouth.

Her arms slipped around his neck to thread in his hair, and she moaned into his mouth as his hands slid greedily over her body, desperate to feel every inch of flesh on her delicate frame. She was soft and warm under his touch and he couldn't stop himself from slowly grinding the hard length of his growing arousal against her. His hands drifted up to fondle her breasts, delighting at the way she arched into his touch and the feel of the hard little peaks through the thin fabric of her dress.

Her hands left his hair to wind round his shoulders as he dipped his head down to the slim line of her neck, laving at the fading mark he'd left there before, intent on deepening its color. He was reveling in the delicious friction of rubbing his trouser-clad arousal against her, when her hands suddenly applied pressure to his shoulders and pushed him away just a bit. He froze, an icy thread of panic slipping down his spine as he watched her shut her eyes and take a deep shuddering breath.

Oh gods, he thought, he'd royally screwed it up now. His mind scrambled to string together an apology for his loss of control, but all coherent thought seeped out of his brain as her eyelids flickered open, her gaze locking with his own. Her eyes were wide and dilated, and she licked her lips slowly before moving her hand from his shoulder to brush first gingerly, then more firmly against the ache in his trousers. He sucked in a breath, his hands moving from her body to rest on the brick wall on either side of her, bracing himself as his knees felt weaken.

Her hand slid to the fastenings of his trousers, pulling them open and tugging them, along with his shorts, just far enough down his narrow hips to expose his turgid length to the cool night air. He bit his lip as she traced one finger from the tip of his erection down to the base of groin and back again. She was still looking at him with those large dark eyes and he could swear he saw just a trace of a smirk tug at the corner of her mouth before her slim fingers closed around him and gave a firm upward stroke.

Merlin, this couldn't be real, he thought, unable to stop himself from moaning and glancing down to watch her hand establish a slow, smooth rhythm up and down his sensitive flesh.

"Malfoy," she murmured, and he tore his eyes away from the sight of her hand on his body, fixing instead on the parted lips of her pretty mouth, which she licked again before whispering, "Have you ever heard of Anais Nin?"

What, his brain screamed, struggling to process her question when he just wanted to sink into the bliss of her hand working at the aching flesh between his legs. "Who?" he managed to stutter.

"Anais Nin." She repeated in a matter-of-fact tone reminiscent of the bossy schoolgirl of yore, and he could swear he felt his cock twitch in her hand. "She was a writer. Famous mostly for her published diaries, but also because she was one of the first female writers to ever explore the realm of erotica."

"Oh." He murmured, one his hands leaving the wall to reach for her body, eager to try to pleasure her as well. She simply shrugged off his touch, grasping him a little more firmly and continuing on her tangent, in a soft breathy voice.

"Anais Nin once said that the body is an instrument."

"Did she?" he breathed, his voice husky and low.

"Yes. And like an instrument, the body only gives off music when it is used as a body."

"Merlin, Granger… "

"Always an orchestra, she said, and just as music traverses walls," she paused, quickening her movement till she had him panting and thrusting into her hand, "so sensuality traverses the body… "

He was getting so close, could feel the tension drawing up at the base of his groin.

"…and reaches up to ecstasy."

"Oh gods, Granger… please… " he whimpered.

"Malfoy?" she whispered, her wide dark eyes searching his face, long slim fingers gripping him tightly, "Do you like the way I play upon you?"

At her question, all the tension in his body snapped, and he was moaning and coming in her hand, his release scattered over the brick wall and the foliage growing at its base.

When it was over, he leaned his head into the crook of her shoulder, trying to calm his breath and vaguely registering her movements as she carefully tucked him back into his shorts and did up the fastenings of his trousers. She reached up to smooth his hair back away from his face and he bent in to kiss her, trying to convey his regard and affection for her in his gentle movements against her mouth. A few minutes later, as she pulled away and took his hand, Draco found himself unable to stop the childish grin that took over his face as she led him out of the little garden alcove to resume their original path.

* * *

Draco woke the next morning feeling better than he had in years. He arched his body lazily within the warm sheets, stretching the kinks of sleep out of his taut muscles, before relaxing back into them and replaying the events of the night before again and again in his mind. Hermione's dark eyes and loose curls, the warm touch of her slim fingers where he liked it most. He could stay in bed all day with such thoughts in his mind. 

Eventually, he pulled himself out of bed, making a quick trip to the loo before shuffling sleepily in his pajama bottoms towards the kitchen to find some juice. He was yawning and giving his stomach a pleasant scratching, when a snicker snapped his attention to the dark figure draped on a chair of his kitchen table.

"My, my, but aren't you a vision of loveliness in the morning." the intruder taunted, his smooth, cool tone, barely concealing the taunt that lay within.

"Sod off, Blaise." Draco muttered, moving to his cabinet to find a glass.

"And so pleasant." Blaise mused, cocking an interested eyebrow at him, "Late night?"

"Not really." Draco replied carefully, filling his glass with juice and moving to sit across the table from Blaise, "And just why, might I ask, do I have the pleasure of you charming company in my kitchen on a Sunday morning. Surely an owl would have sufficed for any important business matters."

"Of course." Blaise intoned, the slow smirk that spread across his face making Draco's stomach feel uneasy. "But I felt a deep seated desire to be here in person this morning."

"Any particular reason why?" Draco said testily, feeling annoyed that his friend was obviously finding some kind of amusement at his expense.

"Well, it's a rare opportunity, in my opinion," he paused, studying Draco's face and seeming even more amused at the rare flare of Draco's temper, "I just simply had to be here when you got your morning paper."

Draco swallowed hard, feeling all the blood drain out of his face as Blaise pushed an open copy of the Sunday Prophet across the kitchen table.

There, at the top of the open page, was a large black and white photograph of himself watching Hermione chatting amiably with Teddy and Jo Nott on the balcony of the Wizarding London Opera house. He stared with horror as the little picture him would very clearly lean into little picture Hermione and press a gentle kiss just below her jaw, before slipping his arm possessively around her waist.

" 'Draco Malfoy, head of Malfoy Industries, makes first public appearance with new lady-love, war-heroine Hermione Granger, at Wizarding London Opera.' " Blaise read out silkily, his small smirk widening into a devilish grin, "This is brilliant. You couldn't plan for better publicity than this. Although, you do realize Potter and Weasley will be out for your blood, don't you?"

Merlin help us, Draco thought, gulping hard. They were both dead.

* * *

A/N: Hello! Again, so sorry for the long wait between updates. They weren't having me on when they said grad school would be hard. But chapter 7 is well under way, so hopefully it won't be too long a wait. Again with this chapter, a few minor edits for content. The original version can be found at AdultFanFiction if you are interested. Now, on to other business… 

My story has been nominated in three categories at Dangerous Liaisons! Thanks to Lilycat, Nikki and Moonie for nominating me! I'll try to post the link in my profile and hopefully you guys will go and cast a ballot for me once voting starts February 13th!

Also, at the urging of Lilycat, I have opened a livejournal. My user name is the same, AraLuna, and it's linked as homepage under my profile. I'm planning to use it to announce story updates, do review responses and just chat about writing, books, life and D/Hr in general. Feel free to friend me and I'll friend you, and we can all be friends. LJ is lovely…

And finally, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, leave a review! Your comments, praise, critiques, etc, really really help me out when I'm working through a new chapter. Do good by your author and leave a review!

The remarks about Faustus and Helen of Troy refer to British playwright, Christopher Marlowe's _The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus_.

The mentions of Hermione and Perdita refer to British playwright, William Shakespeare's _A Winter's Tale_.

Violetta Valery is from Verdi's _La Traviata_, Carmen is the title character from Bizet's _Carmen_, Isolde is from Wagner's _Tristan and Isolde_, Aida is the title character from Verdi's _Aida_, Cio-Cio-San is from Puccini's _Madama Butterfly_, Juliet is from Gounod's _Romeo et Julietta_, Mimi is from Puccini's _La Boheme_, and Gilda is from Verdi's _Rigoletto_.

Brunnhilde is a character in Richard Wagner's _Der Ring des Nibelungen_ quartet, which includes the operas _Die Walkure_(The Valkyrie) and _Gotterdammerung_(Twilight of the Gods.)

I can't recall where exactly the Anais Nin quote comes from. She is brilliant though. Check out her diaries, particularly _Henry and June_, or _Delta of Venus_, which is a collection of her erotica.

Ubermensch refers to German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche's book _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: At last!

Post Hogwarts: A chance encounter with Hermione Granger in a Muggle café leaves Draco Malfoy aching for more. D/Hr with mentions of BW/Hr, H/G, and R/L. Disregards the events of HBP.

_**Disclaimer: If I had any rights to Harry Potter, I wouldn't have to bother with graduate school, and could sit around all day eating cheesy popcorn and finishing this story in a reasonable amount of time. Alas, I have absolutely no claim to Harry Potter, and this story has had to wait four months for an update.**_

Tin Angel

7

'Ron's going to have my head,' Bill thought as he Apparated straight into the kitchen of the Burrow on Sunday morning, immediately going to one of his Mum's cabinets for a glass before moving to rummage through the refrigerator for some juice. He knew what time brunch started, of course, but lately he'd had trouble rousing himself out of bed so early. Fleur was no help, as she liked a good lie-in herself, so more often than not he found himself on the receiving end of a few nasty glares on Sunday mornings from the more edacious of his younger brothers.

Not that the nasty glares had been strictly inspired by his tardiness, Bill thought sadly as he pushed aside an old jar of jam and a carton of butter to get at the juice. No, he'd certainly done enough to elicit those on account of the breakup with Hermione a year ago. Juice in hand, Bill placed his glass on the countertop by the sink, and set about opening the carton, his thoughts drifting to his ex-girlfriend.

Hermione.

In all honesty, he was actually quite happy she was seeing someone new. He'd liked seeing that distracted blush on her cheeks the last two weeks, and, although the relationship was obviously in its early stages, he was more than pleased with the idea that she may have found someone who could make her happy.

Despite what Ron and Harry, and, hell, essentially everyone, believed to the contrary, Bill had cared very deeply for Hermione. Adored her in fact. If things hadn't worked out the way they had, he probably would have married her and lived a very nice life. Nothing like his current life, he mused, smiling fondly at the thought of his beautiful wife, but still, Hermione had been madly in love with him and she would have been a devoted and caring partner.

Bill frowned and took a sip of his juice. Seeing her so hurt for so long had been awful for him. He had been sick with guilt when she began avoiding family functions because of Fleur and himself, and then felt even worse later watching her try to cope with the presence of his new wife. He hated the position he'd left her in, having to choose between being isolated from the people she considered her family and having to deal with seeing him with another woman. This new relationship of hers was exactly what he had been hoping for.

Bill hoped it worked out.

Honestly.

Because he missed her terribly.

Not that Bill wasn't happy with Fleur. She was gorgeous and perfect, and everything Bill could hope for. He simply missed talking to Hermione. He missed her sense of humor, and her brilliant little epiphanies, and all the sly little jokes and references she made that only he ever got. Bill hoped this new bloke would work out, and that he'd be an amiable fellow and that she'd be happy. Then perhaps they could let the painful past go, and be friends again. Just the day before he'd caught himself imagining himself and Fleur sitting around the kitchen table with Hermione and a cheery chap that resembled Neville Longbottom, discussing politics and art, and simply laughing and joking while they made their way through several bottles of cheap wine.

Bill was torn from his thoughts by a light crack of Apparition just behind him, and he spun around to face the subject of his thoughts. Wearing a light summer dress, Hermione looked fresh and happy, and he couldn't help but grin at her.

"Hello." she said, giving him a hesitant smile.

"Hello yourself, luv." Bill said warmly, thinking of how young and girlish she looked with her pretty curls pulled back from her face. "Glad to see I'm not the only one running late. Ron's sure to have the executioner primed and ready. I'd hate to die alone."

"Ah, butchery at breakfast. My favorite." she said with a small laugh, spying the open juice container on the counter, and looking around for a clean glass. "You know you are making these late entrances quite the habit. You might do well to let Fleur know that tardiness is more pernicious than fashionable when there are Weasley stomachs involved."

He snorted at that comment, moving to get a glass for her from high off a shelf, filling it with juice, and receiving another shy smile when he handed it to her.

"Where is she, by the way? Sent her out ahead of the troops to test the waters? Gallantry starting to fail you in your old age, Bill?" she said slyly.

"Soon enough, I'm sure, Luv. Actually, Fleur is in Paris for the week. It's Gabrielle's first year out of Beauxbatons and she's itching to come over and have a romp about London. Their Mum doesn't like the idea and they had a horrible row about it. Fleur's gone to try to smooth things over."

"Oh? That's sweet of her. Those two have always been close, haven't they?"

"Yes, quite. So, Mione, what's your excuse? Late night?" he said pointedly, cocking an eyebrow at her and enjoying the familiar blush that spread lightly across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose.

"Not terribly late, and not in the way you're implying, you smarmy git." she chided softly, "Just drinks and a bit of music."

"Oh, yes, drinks and music always wears me out, as well. How you ever managed to drag yourself out of bed, I could never guess." He chuckled, nudging her playfully. "Really, though, Mione, I hope it works out. I'm sure he's a really decent bloke if he's caught your fancy."

She looked at him strangely for a moment, then smiled and motioned towards the door, "We'd better get a move on. Ron's stomach has probably started to eat itself in desperation. Shall we away to face the famine-maddened mob and let them burn us at the stake for our villainy?"

"But I'm not a witch, I'm not a witch!" Bill pouted at Hermione, making her giggle.

"Oh, is that a false nose? I always did think it rather too large for your face." she teased, and Bill stuck his tongue out at her playfully, "But regardless, I fear the icy black hand of death may be upon us."

They both chuckled as they passed through the backdoor and stepped out in to the yard, making their way together towards the picnic tables under the tree in the back where the other redheads and their spouses were already seated. Bill gave Hermione a quick grin, then scanned the table for Ron, finding him sitting next to Harry, very red in the face and grinding his teeth while he glared at them, while a very pale and weary-looking Luna clutched his arm tightly.

Damn, he thought, you'd think the bugger hadn't eaten in days. This wasn't going to be fun.

The slightest of movements beside him drew his attention away from the apparent fury of his youngest brother to glance at Hermione, who suddenly stood frozen, biting her lip and watching the people at the table nervously. He frowned, confused as Hermione rarely shrank away from the wraith of Ron.

Bill turned back to the table and for the first time noticed the eerie silence that hung tensely over the family gathered there. He glanced at his Mum who was twisting the napkin in her lap despite the stony expression on her face. His Dad was glancing back and forth from where Bill stood with Hermione to the various occupants of the table, looking nervous and worrisome. Fred and George both seemed to be fighting a losing battle to hold back matching wicked grins, while Percy looked like he was itching to start firing questions and Ginny had her lips pursed into a very thin, tight line. Even the various children were sitting silently, instinctively responding to the tension that emanated from their parents.

It was Harry, however, that held his attention longest. He was seated beside Ron, gripping the table tightly, every muscle in his body taut, as though he was barely holding back an inclination to explode and incinerate them all. Harry glared at them, his face stony save for one nerve that twitched near his lower jaw and eyes that were as dark and stormy as Bill had ever seen them.

"Is it true?" Harry choked out suddenly, the tension in his voice ripping through the unnatural silence that gripped the back garden of the Burrow.

"What the bloody hell are you on about?" Bill asked bewilderedly, wondering now if they were wankered-off about something other than his frequent late appearances. Merlin, he hadn't gotten a reception like this since the whole bloody mess with Hermione.

Ginny suddenly snatched up an open copy of the newspaper and tossed it to the side of the table nearest where Bill and Hermione stood, "That is what he's bloody talking about." Ginny said sourly.

Bill glanced down at the open paper and felt his chest constrict painfully, barely registering the shuddering breath Hermione drew next to him as his own windpipe seemed to clamp down and refuse to draw air. There, at the top of the page, was a large black-and-white photograph of Hermione dressed in a ball-gown, chatting with two people he didn't know, while none other than Draco Malfoy leaned in and placed gentle kisses to the corner of her jaw, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

Letting Draco Malfoy press kisses to her jaw.

A dreamy smile on her face as Draco Malfoy pressed kisses to her jaw.

Not pushing that pale, arrogant bastard away as he pressed kisses to her jaw.

No.

"Is it true?" came Harry's choked question again and Bill's gaze snapped to where Hermione stood beside him, her face drained of all color, seemingly unable to tear her eyes from the photo on the table before her. It couldn't be true, Bill thought. Never. She'd never go near him. Not his sweet, innocent little Mione.

"Yes." she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, and the table seemed to draw a collective gasp, Fred and George giving in to malicious, nearly hysterical laughter even as Harry and Ron whirled explosively out of their seats in fury.

Bill felt unsteady on his feet as all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his head, roaring in his ears and muffling whatever sounds were emanating from Harry and Ron as they bore angrily down on Hermione. He found himself sitting down hard on one of the vacated benches, watching dazedly as Harry and Ron pushed themselves right in Hermione's face, waving their hands in angry slashes as their mouths spat out words that Bill couldn't processes.

Was she mad, he wondered hazily, vaguely registering the action as Hermione took a deep breath and raised her chin defiantly to Harry and Ron, a little wrinkle of frustration forming on her forehead as she began to counter-point their tirade. This certainly wasn't anything the Hermione he knew would ever deign to, Bill puzzled, watching as his parents and Ginny rushed up to join the fray, followed just moments later by Luna, Percy and the twins.

Whatever would possess her to even befriend such a miserable, nasty wretch as Draco Malfoy, was just beyond Bill. He'd seen little of the pale, pointy-faced boy since the end of the war, but he remembered the petulant little menace they'd harbored at Grimmauld Place one winter. The snide taunts he'd cast constantly at Harry and Ron were nothing compared to the cruel, trenchant remarks he would sling at Hermione about her looks, her character, and most especially her blood. For her part, she'd always just given him a bored look, tossed her mad brown curls at him, and gone about her business.

Bill watched his Mum shake her head sadly at Hermione, as muffled cries from Ron and Ginny accompanied angry hand-waving and accusatory gesturing toward their dark-haired friend. Luna came up behind Hermione and laid a supportive hand upon her shoulder as Hermione's faltering defenses began to show in the look of pained incredulity on her face.

Connivance and artifice were to be expected of the Malfoy heir, but Hermione should have known better than to get mixed up with his intrigues, Bill grumbled to himself. What in Merlin's name could she be thinking? Had she no regard for her own welfare or the level of disrespect such an act paid to the friends and family who had risked their lives to bring down people like the Malfoy's. It was sheer stupidity on her part. How could such a smart girl as Hermione ever be duped into thinking that someone like Malfoy would ever legitimately lower himself to actually care for her?

"Shut the bloody fuck up, Bill!" he heard Ron bellow suddenly.

Shit, Bill thought, looking up as the red enraged faces that had all suddenly turned to face him. How long had he been voicing his thoughts aloud, he wondered, noticing the sudden look of fragility on Hermione's face, all the pluck and bravado she'd shown before failing her.

"I didn't mean it like that, I was just thinking that-"

"No one gives a bloody fuck what you think, Bill," Ron spat through clenched teeth, "its none of your bloody busi-"

"Have any of you ever considered that maybe he just actually likes her?" Luna suddenly interjected, "That maybe they are just adults who've found that they enjoy each other's company? Hermione is charming and brilliant and I don't see any reason why any man, including Malfoy, wouldn't fall head over heels for her!"

"Oh, bollocks!" Ginny snorted. "Be realistic, Luna, you know very well he's not the type. Men like Malfoy get wit and conversation from their friends, they don't bother themselves with relationships when they could be getting off with a different Witch Weekly cover model every week."

Bill nodded in agreement. Hermione was not an ugly girl by any means. Rather more plain, really, when compared to someone like Fleur, who was dazzling. There were dozens of women in that league, and his position and wealth alone ensured that Malfoy could easily have any of them. Good, sweet girls like Hermione rarely held the attention of such men for long. She would only end up getting hurt.

"Really, Mione, how likely is it that this'll end well?" Fred offered, "I mean, even Bill here's a better man than Malfoy, and we all know what a steaming heap of monkey shite he turned out to be."

"Hey-" Bill interjected.

"Shove off, Bill. Its none of your business." George dismissed.

"I mean anyone who pays that much attention to their hair can't be up to any good." Fred continued, "Don't forget how fussy your last boyfriend got over his pouf-ish little pigtail."

"Hey!"

"Really now, Bill, this doesn't concern you." George snorted loftily.

"Hermione, this is just not right." Harry said tiredly, running his hands wearily through his hair, "Think of all the people that died trying to bring those bastards down. Think of your parents. He believed in all of that. How can you bear to let that son-of-a-bitch put his hands all over you?"

"He gave our side informati-" Hermione protested weakly.

"He sold out the other side to save his own hide! Not out of any kind of change of heart. Is that really the kind of man you fancy? The kind you want to bring home to us, your family?" Hermione's bottom lip began to tremble as Harry spoke, and Bill watched as Luna wrapped her arms tightly around her friend.

"We just don't want to see you hurt again, and there's no other way this can end." Ron said more gently now, "Please, just tell us you'll think this over."

Hermione looked blearily from Ron to the others, before nodding weakly against Luna's shoulder. Bill could still feel the tension thick all around them, and he watched uneasily as his ex-girlfriend took a deep breath and pulled away from Luna's embrace, not meeting anyone's eyes when she spoke.

"Fine. In the end it's my decision… but I do promise I'll think about what you've all had to say. Will that do for now?" she said pointedly at Harry and Ron.

Their sullen nods disappointed Bill, who ground his teeth in frustration. He'd rather they'd extracted a promise from her to keep far away from the little bastard, but he doubted any further input from him would be welcome now.

"I don't feel very hungry anymore." Hermione said tiredly, "I think I might just go home and lie down for a bit." She avoided looking at the others again, as she hugged Luna briefly and apologized quickly to Molly, before walking a few steps away into the clearing and disapparating with a light crack.

"This is all your bloody fucking fault!"

Startled, Bill spun around to suddenly find the angry fist of his youngest brother waving angrily in his face.

"My fault?" Bill choked out, as Ron stepped in closer.

"Yeah, you're fault! If you'd have just stopped thinking with your bloody wanker, and realized how good you already had it, none of this would have ever happened!"

* * *

Draco shifted against the doorway of Hermione's flat, arching his back a bit to relieve the slight ache that was growing along his spine. It had over an hour now since he'd been waiting there and the dull pain in his feet was tempting him to just plop down cross-legged on the floor. Ugh, he thought, so unbecoming. 

He'd shoved a smirking Blaise out the door as soon as he saw the picture in the Prophet that morning, and had dived for the floo, attempting to get a hold of Hermione before she left for the Weasel feast. Finding her flat empty, he'd thrown on some clothes and gone to her building to wait for her return, hoping she'd managed to see the paper and dodged the morning bullet, though at this point he didn't think it likely.

He'd bypassed the locked building entryway with a quick charm, checked her flat number on the post box and made his way up to the third level to wait. Draco figured that from the hallway he'd be able to catch her on her way in if she was on foot, and hear her movements inside if she floo'd or apparated.

Merlin, waiting was awful, he thought, drumming his fingers nervously against the doorframe, then holding them up to inspect them for dirt.

* * *

He could just imagine what those miserable Weasels would have to say about him.

* * *

The detail work on the cuff of his shirtsleeve was actually quite amazing. He wondered at how much practice it must take to perfect the casting of a sewing spell that would make all those tiny stitches so perfectly straight. And to think Muggles actually used to do that sort of thing by hand…

* * *

He was beginning to wonder if meddling in his affairs was something of a sport to Potter and the Weasel.

* * *

It seemed her wretched cat was hovering just on the other side of the door. It's incessant purring would either drive him mad or put him to sleep. Sixty-three. Bloody thing had meowed sixty-three times in the last fifteen minutes.

* * *

He hoped they weren't awful to her.

* * *

A dull, unfamiliar ache of nerves had just begun to settle in Draco's belly, when he heard her light footsteps take to the stairwell. As the loose sway of her dark curls made their appearance on the upper level stairs, it became clear there would be no need to ask whether they'd seen the photo in the morning's paper. It was apparent in the weariness in her carriage, the tired draw of her face. Yet as he took in her summer dress, the line of her neck and the light flush on her cheeks, he could not help but think her achingly lovely. He wanted to envelope her, kiss her breathless and drive away all memory of whatever those wretched Weasley's might have said. 

She paused for a moment when she saw him leaning against her doorframe, then moved to put her key in the lock, walked through the door and left it open behind her in silent invitation. He followed her into the unlit flat, struggling not to stumble on various pieces of shadowy furniture as they made their way to what he guessed was her bedroom.

The bedroom was dark as well, the only light in the room emanating faintly through the long gauzy curtains that hung on the windows. Hermione stopped in the middle of the room, looking around her blankly. Draco stood a few steps behind her, silent and wanting nothing more than to run his fingers along her skin.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked suddenly, her voice flat, "Some tea, perhaps?"

"No," he murmured, reaching up to graze his hand along the slope of her shoulder, "I want you to know what you're thinking right now."

She shivered under his touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before she slipped away from him, crossing the room to pull open the door of her closet and slipping her wand out from a small pocket on the side of her dress. With a quick flick, she summoned a large valise down from a high shelf and guided it to her bed, flicking it open before moving hurriedly around her room to gather articles of clothing from the closet and her wardrobe.

"What are you doing, Granger?" Draco queried, struggling to keep his growing alarm from showing in his voice, "What happened?"

"I have to pack, I'm heading out to Marrakech tonight," she said quietly.

"You're not scheduled to leave for three more days. What's happpened?" he paused, watching her toss a pair of shoes into the open bag, "What did they say to you? Were they yelling at you this whole time?"

"No," she sighed, rummaging through a bureau, "I was only there for a few minutes. mI had a bit of a walk down by the bridge, and then went to Gringotts to have my trip moved up."

He grabbed at her shoulder, forcing her to stay still and trying to look into her eyes, "Why are you leaving? What did they say to you?"

She shook her head and looked down, rubbing at the wetness that was pooling at her eyes, "Oh, it was awful," she whispered, "They just… broke down every defense I… I mean I expected they wouldn't take it lightly, but… Merlin, they tore me completely apart."

"Fuck all." Draco hissed, his voice on edge, " And I, of course, can only have some nefarious plot in mind. I can only imagine what they must have said about me."

"Actually they hardly said anything of you at all." Hermione replied with a choked half-laugh, "They said you were acting no differently than expected. It was me they castigated. My intelligence, my morals, my character, even my loyalty to Harry and the family."

Draco felt bitterness prickling at his chest. That Weasel bunch were always thick as thieves. He'd never have expected them to bear down so hard on one of their own.

"And what of this?" Draco said pointing to the space between himself and Hermione, "Is this why you're leaving? Are you done with me?"

She pulled away from him then, turning back to stuffing things into the open valise and not meeting his eyes, "It's just too much right now. I need some time. To think."

Draco wanted to wrench the luggage away from her. To bury his hands in her thick glossy curls and ravage her mouth. To show her that the only ploy he had in mind was to press her naked, glistening skin to his as he whispered in her ear of oceans and starlight and the elegance of an infinite universe. Instead, he watched her finish packing, his jaw stiff, hands clenched and swallowing the icy nausea that pushed at the back of his throat.

The valise gave a hollow click when she snapped it closed. Hermione pulled on a pair of shoes and tied her hair back from her face. She pulled the valise up from the bed, clutching the wide bag to her chest and biting her bottom lip as she watched Draco. "I'll be in Marrakech until Friday," she said quietly, "I'll send you an owl when I get back." For a moment she opened her mouth, as if to say something more, but couldn't seem to summon the words, and closed it again with a small sigh. She watched him a moment longer, then closed her eyes and disapparated.

Draco wasn't certain how long he stood there, motionless in her dark, silent flat. Of their own volition, his hands had taken up a silky piece of her clothing that had been discarded on the bed, and he ran its smooth, cool texture back and forth between his fingers, as he willed himself not to think. He lifted the garment to his nose, inhaling the familiar clean scent before flinging it angrily to the ground just seconds before the crack of his disapparation rang through the flat.

* * *

Author's Notes/References: Again, lots of apologies following such a long wait. School was miserably hard this semester and some things must fall to the wayside. However, summer break is here and updates should continue to follow much more frequently. Sorry to have to come back with such a dreary chapter, but it was next in the progression of chapters. Next installment should be far more, shall we say, indulgent? 

Also, this story won three awards at the latest round of Dangerous Liaisons: The Blast from the Past Award, The Sweetest Kisses Award, and the third Reader's Pick Award. Thank you so much to all who nominated and voted for me. I lurve you all so much.

On a side note, I have started a LiveJournal to post updates and news for this story. My name is the same: araluna. Feel free to come by, friend me, leave commentary, whatever you please, and of course I'm still doing my email update list for any interested parties.

As for references, I kept it pretty slim this time kids, with just a few nods to Monty Python.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Shorter than most of the others, but hopefully sweet. Please review, please review!

Post Hogwarts: A chance encounter with Hermione Granger in a Muggle café leaves Draco Malfoy aching for more. D/Hr with mentions of BW/Hr, H/G, and R/L. Disregards the events of HBP.

_**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I would be in Morocco right now, lovely and warm with some delicious Draco-like man in my bed waiting patiently for me to finish the next chapter. Unfortunately, I do not own Harry Potter, and my sort-of boyfriend is across town asleep, while I plug away here and curse the fact that, even though it is August, it is already getting chilly at night.**_

Tin Angel

8

A long line of mashrabiya windows ran along the western length of the hotel room, and the golden light of the setting North African sun passed through them, casting tiny, glowing geometric patterns over the smooth, tiled floor. Draco paced back and forth along the line of windows, running his fingers along the intricately carved wood of the window casings as he passed. The soft _slap_, _slap_ of his bare feet on the cool tiles soothed the edgy nerves that had built in his stomach after several hours of waiting.

He bloody hated waiting.

He wanted to throttle those Weasley's, and shake Hermione until she knew for certain that he wanted her, that some sick game was the furthest thing from his mind.

Draco's pacing slowed for a moment, as he ran his hands wearily through his hair and rubbed away the light sheen of perspiration the hot humid air had left on his brow. Gods, he thought sullenly, what power did this woman have over him to reduce him to such a besotted swain?

Sunday, after Apparating straight from Hermione's flat to his own, he'd paced angrily around his sitting room, debating with himself, and desperately trying to suppress the urge to grab the closest thing in arms reach and smash it against the nearest wall.

Did she not have even a trace of trust for him? The last few weeks, the heat of their conversations, the shuddering desire when they kissed or touched, the sudden feeling that every moment not spent with her was in anticipation of their next meeting; did she really not feel any of this? Was it so easy to toss it away at a few venomous remarks from that inexorable Weasley clan?

After nearly an hour of angry pacing, and a bout of weakness when he'd snatched up a particularly offending porcelain vase and sent it sailing towards an obliging wall where it had shattered with a satisfying crash, Draco had poured himself a stiff drink, bathed, poured himself another drink, then Apparated to his office. He'd sent off a flurry of owls, and left his secretary a detailed list of appointments to cancel or reschedule. From the office, he'd gone directly to the International Portkey office and purchased the next available Portkey to Marrakech for the following morning.

It had been a fairly sleepless night, spent tossing and turning and having strange snippets of dreams that left him bathed in sweat and tangled in the bed sheets. In the morning, he'd plied himself with a few cups of strong coffee and went to wait at the Portkey office.

At last in Marrakech, he'd checked into his hotel, and then spent several hours tracking down Granger, the exchange of a few spare banknotes expediting the flow of information. Draco had located her hotel by early afternoon, and with the exchange of a few more bills, had proceeded immediately up to her room, determined to confront her if she was in, or wait as long as need be if she was out.

He'd been here now for nearly four hours awaiting her return.

It was a beautiful suite of rooms, Draco mused, as he resumed his pacing. The walls were lined with intricate glass mosaics, and all of the furniture was covered in richly embroidered cushions and linens. The western wall of mashrabiya windows faced the street and he'd peeked into the bedroom to find a private balcony that opened out to the hotel's lush inner courtyard. It was fairly hot, but that was to be expected here, and with the warm breeze from the windows and the cool tile underfoot, one really couldn't complain. It was a far cry from the usual fare of bland five-star, English-styled décor that was booked for him whenever he traveled. Perhaps he'd send his own secretary out for a few pointers from Hermione's people.

Merlin, he hardly knew what he would say to her when at last she did arrive.

Draco had paced for another half an hour, watching the patterns of lights creep further along the cool tiled floor, when he heard footsteps approach the door and a then a key in the lock. He froze in his tracks, body tense, not daring to breathe as he stared intently at the door.

Hermione slipped through the doorway without looking up, turning immediately to a low table near the door to drop her bag and inspect the mail that had been left there for her. She wore a long gauzy white caftan over trousers, and a scarf had been carefully tied around her hair and knotted at the base of her hairline, leaving only the delicate features of her face and the slim curve of her neck exposed to his vision. She was so lovely, and he felt a wave of desire join the jumble of anxiety, frustration and affection roiling about in his stomach.

Tossing the mail back on the low table, Hermione at last looked up, jumping slightly as she caught sight of him, her hand darting up to press against the left side of her chest, lips parting in surprise.

"Malfoy… I-…" she began, then stopped, eyes still wide and lips opening and closing as she seemed to scramble for something to say.

"You wanted some space to think." Draco said quietly, slipping his fists in his pockets to hide their nervous clenching, "I know. I'm sorry."

They stood there in silence, neither moving, and watching each other anxiously.

"I-…" Draco began again, "Gods, Granger, one bloody day was wretched enough, did you really expect me to wait an entire week while you thought?

"I don't know," she said softly, pausing a moment to chew her bottom lip, "I mean, no, really… it wasn't really right of me to just run off like that. I suppose. They're just-, it's just that they're my family, and they think I should give this some serious con-"

"I don't care what they think!" Draco spat angrily, running his hands through his hair again in frustration, before crossing the room in several long, quick strides to stand just in front of her. "Granger, I know you feel this thing I'm feeling. We both feel it."

"They're worried for me," she sighed, reaching up unconsciously to rub at a few small beads of perspiration that were collecting near her clavicle. Draco repressed the urge to lean in and lick the moisture from her skin. She worried her bottom lip a bit more, dark eyes flitting back and forth from his eyes to the floor. "After everything with Bill, and the history between all of us and you as kids-; they're just trying to look out for me."

"They should trust your judgment," he said quietly, reaching out to stroke her arm through the thin fabric of her shirt, and he was pleased when, despite the thick heat in the air, she shivered a bit under his touch, "if you feel this is a good thing, that should be enough for them."

"I know, Malfoy," she murmured, looking down again, "but-"

"You are the one who knows me," he interrupted, pressing closer to her, "Not them. What are your instincts telling you? They aren't telling you to run from me, are they? They tell your heart to speed up… they urge you to lean into me… to press your skin against mine… 'my dove… that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs… let me see thy countenance… let me hear thy voice.' "

Hermione was shivering all over now; tiny shivers just visible around her shoulders and arms and jaw. Her cheeks were flushed and she seemed to be having trouble raising her eyes to meet his.

"… that we can feedeth among the lilies… " she whispered, a question in her voice.

" 'Until day breaks and the shadows flee away.' " he reassured quietly. "Trust me." he whispered, bending closer and not quite grazing his cheek against hers.

"I'm frightened to." she breathed softly.

Draco ghosted his hand up along the line of her body, up her shoulder and past her neck, to the knot of the scarf at the back of her head. With deft fingers he loosened the knot, tugging away the scarf so that her wild glossy curls sprang out from their binding. He twined one about his finger, caressing the dark strand before releasing it and burying both hands in the mass of her curls, tilting her face up towards his. "Trust me." he murmured, his breathe little puffs against her lips. "Hermione, trust me."

He felt a trembling pass up through her body, then saw her eyelids flutter shut a moment before he felt the soft warm press of her lips against his own.

The sense of relief that washed over him was quickly overcome by a flood of desire as the sensations of her gentle kisses and the heat of her body radiating from within her clothes began to ebb away at any coherent thought left in his mind. He felt himself deepening the soft kisses into a languorous and heated exploration of her mouth, his arms winding themselves against her body, pressing her tightly against him. Her arms reached up to slip around his neck, and he nearly groaned into her mouth as he felt her begin to undulate ever so slightly against him.

Fumbling to clutch her more tightly, Draco lifted his foot to kick lightly at the low table by the door, shoving it further down the wall, then pushed Hermione back against the wall, pressing himself into her and running his hands up and down the sides of her body. He found the hem of her shirt and his fingers slipped underneath it, skimming along the small of her back, her soft skin damp with perspiration.

He pressed kisses to her temples, her forehead, the bridge of her nose, before ducking down to lave and suck at her jaw and neck, sighing against her skin when her lips found the shell of his ear.

Draco's hand had just moved up her waist to tease at her chest through her clothes when he felt her fingers move along his chest to begin fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He gritted his teeth at the sudden pulsing ache in his groin, and forced himself to pull away from her just enough to search her eyes. Finding a flash of clarity and determination in their depths, he pressed his damp forehead against hers for a moment before leaning down and kissing her deeply.

With trembling fingers they worked at buttons and zips, clumsily tugging away clothing until they were both bare and flushed and pressed heatedly against each other. Draco was nearly panting with desire at the feel of her pressed against his chest, and he pushed his thigh between her legs so he could feel her heat against his skin. Hermione began making little whimpering noises as he rubbed his leg against her tender flesh, and she shifted her weight so she could hitch one of her legs up over his hip, using the leverage she gained to try to shift the contact from his leg to his groin.

Draco breathed deeply against her neck, rubbing the soft underside of her leg before obliging her by shifting one hand down to support her bum and using the other to guide her other leg up to hook over his hip. She locked her arms behind his neck and rocked into him, and he could not stop his body from shuddering at the intimate touch of her body to his.

"Oh," she moaned breathily against his lips, "…yes… please."

Draco found her lips, kissing her once, deep and slow, before shifting his hips and slowly pressing himself into her. He moved slowly at first, relishing the sound of her soft moans and the feel of finally being inside her, but Hermione began squirming more desperately against him, and he sound found himself moving against her more heatedly.

When a slight burn began to tingle in his thighs, and he could feel himself creeping closer to orgasm, Draco slowed his motions, grasping Hermione tightly to him before slowly, carefully, sliding them down along the wall to the cool tiles of the floor. He laid himself back against them, pulling her to sit astride him and coaxing her to move against him once more.

He moved his hands to her hips, helping her to ease into a gentle rhythm as she slowly began to continue their lovemaking. Geometric patterns of light danced over her body, and as she moved over him, head thrown back, skin glistening with perspiration and flickering light, Draco was certain he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

Soon she cried out, and he felt the fluttering spasms of her release. He pulled her gently to him, pressing nuzzling kisses to her nose and forehead, then gently rolled her onto her back, and began thrusting into her in earnest. Soon he was lost in her heat, her caresses, the soft peaceful look on her face and he came hard, his forehead pressed to hers as he spasmed his release into her.

They collapsed there on the floor in sweaty tangle of limbs, each making weary grasps to draw the other closer, and Draco found his head pressed against her chest, listening to racing thud of her heartbeat and savoring the feel of her fingers tracing lazy patterns on the skin of his back and arms.

When their breathing had calmed, Draco gathered her pliant body to him, and carried her to the large bed in the next room. He deposited her gently on the cool cotton sheets then crawled up next to her, covering her body with his, and reveling in the feel of her damp skin. He began pressing kisses to her face, her neck, the soft skin on the inside of her arm, and every part of her, whispering of pomegranates and saffron, honey and threads of scarlet, as he paid reverence to every inch of her body.

Author's notes:

Apologies for the long wait between chapters. Life and such. Hope you like. Please review!

As usual, this chapter has been edited slightly for content. If you are of age, and interested in the full original, please visit my livejournal (you can find the link in my profile) or look me up under AraLuna at AFF or Contraveritas.

'my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock…' and references at the end to pomegranates and saffron, honey and threads of scarlet are all quotes and references to the Song of Solomon, or the Song of Songs.


	9. Chapter 9

Post Hogwarts: A chance encounter with Hermione Granger in a Muggle café leaves Draco Malfoy aching for more. D/Hr with mentions of BW/Hr, H/G, and R/L. Disregards the events of HBP and DH.

_**Disclaimer: If I were J.K. Rowling I would be snug in my Scottish castle using my seven finished novels as a footrest while eating ice cream, instead of relocating for the 5th time in 2 years and taking over a year to update my stories. Sadly, I am not J.K. Rowling, I do not own Harry Potter, and am still in negotiations about that castle. **_

Tin Angel

9

"No, I can't really say I've had much opportunity to… eh… rustle up cattle."

"Well, you should give it serious consideration the next time you plan a holiday," Luna replied warmly, biting back a giggle and turning her head to the basket of colorful knit hats she was poking through. Malfoy stood next to her, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he shifted nervously on his feet and scanned the throngs of Camden Market shoppers for Hermione.

"The fresh air, the horses, the beans, the little cow babies…" Luna continued, pulling a shockingly violet hat from the pile and looking at it thoughtfully, "its really all quite invigorating. One's legs do get rather sore after riding horses for so long… May I borrow your head for a moment?" she interrupted herself, holding up the hat and gesturing for him to bend over so she could reach him. Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at her, and Luna felt certain he was fighting a willful battle with himself not to scowl before slowly bending his head toward her.

She stuffed the violet hat over his pale hair, and stepped back to consider him, "But they do sell these marvelous leather trouser coverings for horse-riding, and really they are worth the expense. After our trip, Ron and I found ever so many opportunities to use them creatively in the bedroom seeing as they don't cover up one's private bi… "

"Luna," Hermione laughed, reappearing from the crowd with a small shopping sack and looking highly amused at the expression of horror on Draco's face coupled with the thick knit hat of electric purple shoved on his fair head, "I don't know if he's quite ready to be so intimately acquainted with Ron's… habits. Frankly, I'm not sure I am either."

"Indeed, I'm quite satisfied with a superficial understanding of Weasley's activities in the world. Player of quidditch, eater of food, friend of Hermione; more than enough for me." Malfoy added hastily, shifting to stand closer to Hermione, who smiled at him.

"I think the color is fine for Draco, but it'll clash horribly with Ron's hair," Hermione said, turning to the bin of hats and pulling out a dark green one, "And we should probably be trying to butter him up. He looks great in green."

Luna nodded thoughtfully and took the hat from Hermione, examining it closely, "I think you may be right. Although, if you ever incline your strategy towards blackmail, I know a number of stories that would turn him a horrifying shade of fuchsia," she offered pleasantly.

"And risk him turning his wraith on you? I'm touched, Luna." Hermione smiled.

"Oh, I can handle Ron just fine." Luna replied serenely.

"A tempting offer, Lovegood." Malfoy smirked, pulling the hat from his head and tossing it back on the pile, "If I change my mind, I'll owl you."

Luna turned to pay the owner of the hat stall, watching out the corner of her eye as Malfoy and Hermione wandered into the next stall, Malfoy's hand resting on the small of Hermione's back. She smiled to herself when Malfoy leaned into Hermione, brushing a kiss across her temple before reaching down to the little plastic sack to see what she had bought.

He's really bloody gorgeous, Luna thought, handing a few coins to the stall owner. Clean and sharp, and long and lean, and a subtle, delicious smell if you stood close enough to him.

Which Luna had done frequently in the last few hours.

She'd been amusing herself all afternoon by finding ways to cut through Malfoy's cool, smooth demeanor and throw him off his guard, leaving him shifting awkwardly and at a loss for words.

Probably a good thing too for Hermione's sake, Luna mused. What with the way Malfoy was constantly staring at Hermione, teasing her, subtly flirting with her, and with such a burning intensity it really ought to have set the girl aflame. To Luna's delight, Hermione held her own quite well with Draco, matching him wit for wit with light mocking and affectionate teasing. Luna had long stopped bothering trying to keep up with the steady stream of subtle snark and innuendo that passed between the pair in the hours since the three of them had met for lunch at a little Muggle place off Camden High Street.

Hermione had owled Luna as soon as she'd portkeyed back to London from Marrakech and the two friends had met for lunch the following day. Luna had walked into the restaurant solemnly, dreading a tearful confession that Hermione would be dropping Malfoy, yet hoping for a tearful confession that she was going to tell Harry and Ron to stuff it. However, one look at her friend's flushed glowing complexion and Luna had ordered a bottle of wine and insisted on details.

Hermione had blushed prettily and told her that Malfoy had spent the entire week with her in Marrakech. While she went to meetings for work in the mornings, he had lazed about in bed, dozing and sending owls to his secretary for several hours, waiting until she returned in the early afternoons and then tugging her onto the cool cotton sheets. They'd made love for hours, eventually emerging out onto the streets of the city in the late afternoon to browse the markets and find street food. Every night they'd go out for drinks at one of the many posh bars that dotted the city before returning to the hotel for more lovemaking, eventually succumbing to sleep in a sweaty tangle. Luna had smiled knowingly and fanned her menu at Hermione's flushed cheeks, making her laugh and bat it away.

It had been nearly a month now since that trip, and this was the first time Hermione had convinced Malfoy to go out with them. It didn't surprise Luna that Malfoy would be so hesitant to meet her. Hermione's absence at Weasley brunch for the last four weeks had been enough to clue in Harry, Ron and the rest of the family to her decision regarding the blonde scourge of their childhood, and there had been little communication besides a few tense owls. Luna herself was his one potential ally in that regard, and she found it understandable if he was nervous to muck it up with her as well.

"So Malfoy, Hermione tells me you're tagging along to Abu Dhabi with her next week," Luna mentioned lightly, cornering him again as Hermione wandered ahead to look at a table of silver jewelry, "This is the third trip you two have been on in the last month. Lucky you to be able to drop everything on a whim and portkey off around the world. How does one get your job?"

"Pure karma, I assure you, Lovegood. Tease little girls about their hair, pinch unattractive babies, and find yourself a bunch of redheaded gits to mock and belittle for a few years. Everything everyone else wishes they had the stones to actually do. Life's riches will start rolling your way in no time."

"The red-headed gits part should be easy, but I don't know many ugly babies. I suppose I'll have to stick to my boring day-to-day," Luna sighed, blowing her fringe out of her eyes. "I don't think Hermione's been to Abu Dhabi before. What do you plan to do when you get there?"

"I'm not certain. Pillage, perhaps."

"The city or Hermione?" Luna asked, her eyes wide and thoughtful as she looked up at him.

Malfoy snorted at that comment and grinned, "Likely the latter, but if I indulge in the former I'll be sure to bring you back something pretty."

Smirking over his shoulder at Luna, Malfoy walked over to the table where Hermione stood examining a number of dainty necklaces with a tiny four-leafed clovers set under glass.

Luna liked the way Malfoy's fingers absently twirled one of the loose curls at the nape of Hermione's neck, pleased to see that he could hardly keep his eyes or hands off her for very long. She was more than satisfied that he had more than just a passing fancy for her sweet friend.

If she thought about it, she really didn't know what Bill had been like early in his relationship with Hermione. The two of them had taken up with each other not long after Hermione had been transferred to Egypt on her first international assignment for Gringotts. It was six months into their relationship before any of the family had any concrete knowledge of their dating, and then only because Bill had decided to move back to London and had asked Hermione to join him.

Not that there hadn't been light-hearted speculation. Bill's letters home had initially been laced with a bit of annoyance that they expected him to keep an eye out on one of Ron's little mates from school when she started a new post to expand Gringott's Egyptian operations. It had been mere weeks before the letters that came home were full of mentions of 'Mione' and what marvelous thing she'd done at work, or funny story she'd told him, or brilliant book she had him reading. Desert treks on camelback, elaborate cooking experiments in Cairo, and a trip to Alexandria just to see the library had raised eyebrows at the Burrow, but more in jest than seriousness. Though they were all, of course, terribly fond of her, she was quite a few years younger than Bill and not his usual type.

When they'd returned to England together, Bill had unceremoniously announced that they were together, implied that it was quite serious and that was that. They had already settled comfortably into their relationship months earlier. The Weasley clan were amused and generally pleased, making a few comments amongst themselves about how well they suited each other in temperament and intellect, and how glad they were that Bill had picked a girl they actually liked; the family then refocused their attention on the impending birth of Ginny and Harry's second child.

Luna sighed to herself as she watched Malfoy hand a few notes to the jewelry seller, then pick up one of the little necklaces and slip it around Hermione's neck, tracing a finger along her collarbone and fingering the tiny clover pendant where it rested in the hollow of her clavicles.

If only the Weasley's were as accepting of Hermione's current relationship, Luna thought, frowning a bit as she thought of what awaited her tomorrow morning.

Sunday brunches at the Burrow had been consistently unpleasant. Instead of spending an enjoyable morning chatting with Hermione, Luna was forced to endure hours of Ginny fussing over her children and detailing the various aches and pains in her body as her belly expanded with the newest young Potter. Harry himself had been brooding and quiet, usually complaining of a headache and heading home early, while the twins alternated between telling wildly inappropriate stories and whispering loudly to themselves about comical ways they might welcome Malfoy to the family. Luna suspected this was really an effort to goad Bill, whose irritability and snappishness had seemed immune to even Fleur's placations.

Malfoy and Hermione were far better company, she thought, watching them wander in and out of a number colorful, gauzy scarves that were strung on lines crisscrossing a corner of the market. Luna paused, picking up a dusty volume of Muggle mythology, and paging through it while trying not to outright stare as Malfoy tugged Hermione into a quiet corner to give her a brief, heated snog.

* * *

Draco did not like the way Blaise was staring at Hermione.

Bastard.

As though she were a particularly rare cut of Porterhouse.

Scattered with a handful of diamonds.

Served on a platter of galleons.

His best friend sat across the table from them, eyes fixed hungrily on his girlfriend, as though he couldn't make up his mind whether he'd rather eat her or shag her.

Draco ground his teeth a bit, and shifted his chair so he could casually slip his arm around Hermione's back, hand resting lightly on her hip. She glanced at him and gave him a small smile, before turning back to her conversation with Jo Nott, who, along with Lenore Pucey and Adeline Warrington, was insisting to Hermione that she and Draco ought to join them all for their annual getaway to a resort in Phucket.

"It's just heavenly. You'll adore it." Jo sighed dreamily.

"We usually block off their best suites of rooms for two weeks in late August." Adeline put in, "The place is wonderful. Quiet and overlooking the water. All the beaches are pristine. Private, of course."

"Of course." Hermione said, smiling.

"And the chef is top-rated. You won't find better dishes in all of Thailand," added Lenore, "Adrian's parents spend winters there, and they have a gorgeous sailboat. We go out on the water nearly everyday."

"Draco says you've been. Where do you usually stay?" Jo asked.

"Um, well in Phucket I usually stay in one of the little locally owned places. They have these lovely little cabanas right on the beach."

"Local?"

"Yes. They're very simple, but it's easier to build relationships in regards to my work if I'm staying more in the community. Which has been great really. I like trying the local foods, and if you make the right friends, they'll take you to all the hidden places most tourists never get to see."

"That sounds wonderful. It'd be refreshing to try something new this year. You could show us, if you come." Adeline said sweetly, "Oh please do come!"

Draco tuned out their conversation, and returned his focus to Blaise who was discussing the Arrows upcoming match against the Cannons with Teddy, Adrian Pucey, Chase Warrington and Graham Pritchard. Despite his cool insistence that the Arrows would slaughter the Cannons 10 to 1, he never took his gaze off Hermione. Draco took a slow sip of his wine, directing his coldest glare in Blaise's direction, but his dark friend paid him no mind.

Wanker.

Apart from Blaise's unwanted attentions, the dinner seemed to be going very well. It had been nearly a month now since Draco had returned from Marrakech with Hermione, and tonight was his first attempt at taking her out with any of his friends besides Jo and Teddy Nott. Jo, who'd been immediately fond of Hermione, had assured him that the others would be on their best behavior. They all knew who she was, of course, and since they'd seen the pictures of the two of them in the society pages of The Prophet, they'd all been anxious to meet her.

He'd sent out dinner invitations to his close friends via owl earlier in the week, and not a single one of them declined. He'd had his secretary set up reservations at a posh restaurant in an elegant corner of Diagon Alley and they were all here now, chatting and watching himself and Hermione with barely disguised curiosity as they made their way through several courses of dinner. Draco wasn't entirely surprised. It was rare that he dated women for any length of time, and even rarer that he subjected any of his friends to them. And of course, Hermione Granger was Hermione Granger. They didn't need to be told the implications of dating her.

Hermione laughed at something Adrian Pucey said to her, and Draco did his best to stifle the look of affection that threatened to overtake his face. She was so terribly lovely, he thought, admiring the way her elegant dress dipped low along her back.

The last month had been splendid. He'd seen her nearly every day, taking her out to dinner or staying in to cook; they went to the cinema, to plays, he'd taken her out dancing several times, and other days they'd simply found a quiet table at a café and read their respective books. He'd also reworked his schedule so that he could accompany her on the last three trips she'd made for Gringotts. They'd spent a long weekend in Paris, four days in Istanbul and another four in Osaka. The day after tomorrow they were leaving for five days in Abu Dhabi. Blaise could have cared less about Draco's absences. He ran a tight ship, and could suffice with owl communications while Draco was 'indulging himself with the Granger girl" as Blaise had put it.

He was glad to see Hermione enjoying herself with his friends. Her own friends had been the one dark cloud over the last few weeks. There had been a few curt owls from Harry, Ginny and Ron in particular, and Hermione had been reluctant to fulfill her Weasel brunch obligations. When Sunday mornings rolled around she'd sigh and curl into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Pleased to keep her out of the Burrow and in his bed, Draco would soothe her with soft kisses and whispered words, until she was practically mewling in his arms, and then he'd fuck her, slow and lazy.

Lovegood was the only one of those damned Weasley's to stick by her, dismissing her husband's protests and meeting with Hermione frequently for lunch. Yesterday was the first time he'd worked up the nerve to meet her, knowing she was his best chance at making what would eventually be essential headway with those Weasels. Despite finding her somewhat… odd, he'd like the moony blonde woman, and was pleased to find her fiercely loyal to Hermione.

Stupid Gryffindors. Loyalty his arse, Draco thought, watching his own friends take so easily to her. Of course it didn't hinder their amiability knowing that she was close to wizarding society's golden boy or that she was well connected to the press and the ministry, or that, of course, Draco was likely to hex their balls off if they gave her a hard time. Still they seemed rather charmed with her in general. They'd been slightly late for their reservation and their waiter had been a horrid prick. Fed up, Draco had been ready to give the sour lad a piece of his mind, when Hermione had laid a calming hand on his knee and turned to give the waiter a dazzling smile. They'd all watched in awe as she charmed the waiter's socks off, had him nearly hysterical telling stories of some of his most atrocious customers, and bringing out extra dishes, compliments of the chef.

"Where in the bloody hell did you learn to do that, Granger?" Blaise had asked bluntly, and all present had turned to her, awaiting her response.

"I'm sure you must recall Harry and Ron's frequent shenanigans in school," Hermione had said simply, "Try spending seven years trying to keep those two rascals out of trouble. Eventually a girl becomes quite good at improvisational persuasion."

They'd all seemed to accept that response, and had enthusiastically engaged her in conversation as the evening progressed. Draco gave her waist an affectionate squeeze and turned to try to lose himself in the quidditch conversation, taking a 50 galleon bet from Warrington against the Arrows.

"Granger," Blaise said suddenly, his voice cool and smooth as he slowly crossed his arms on the table and leaned toward her, "I'll give 5,000 galleons to the charity of your choice if you'll have dinner with me."

Draco felt Hermione made a sort of startled movement next to him as his own blood turn to ice and his fists clenched tightly around his dinner napkin. Draco stiffly moved to stand, his gaze fixed stonily on Blaise, but the dark man casually waved him down, keeping his eyes steadily on Hermione.

"Calm yourself, Malfoy."

Draco sputtered unintelligibly, brain still not quite functioning properly, but Blaise cut him off.

"I expect you to be there as well."

"What are you on about, Zabini?"

The others at the table had halted their conversations, watching them with quiet interest and continuing to sip at their drinks.

"Three weeks from now. We have another dinner with the bastards at Keating. I want her to come and use that charming mouth of hers to help us smooth out this deal."

Understanding began to dawn on Draco and he turned to look at the girl beside him with interest as well, as Blaise went on.

"Think about it, Malfoy. Old Keating hates you and he hates me, but he'll adore her. She'll have him eating out of her palm in fifteen minutes flat. And for your services, Ms. Granger," Blaise said, smiling slightly, "a cool 5,000 galleons to whatever humble cause tugs at your heartstrings."

"You're a fucking genius, Blaise, and I'm a fucking genius for hiring you." Draco muttered, smiling and admiring the pretty witch sitting next to him.

"And why ever would I want to convince some poor old bloke to trust the two of you?" Hermione said, leaning back against her chair, narrowing her eyes shrewdly at Blaise.

"They really are bastards," Draco said quickly, "Their goblin section is vastly underpaid, for one. Some of the worst salaries in London, and I know for a fact that old man Keating still keeps a horde of unpaid house elves…"

"It will make us vast amounts of money." Blaise said, cutting to the chase, "And it will give us an excellent opportunity to evaluate you as a consultant for our annual charitable distributions. They are quite generous, if you are not aware."

"Indeed." Hermione replied. She sat there quietly for a moment, examining Blaise who held her gaze steadily. "Ten thousand."

"Come again, Granger?"

"Ten thousand galleons to the charity of my choice, and I'll see to it that this Keating chap is happy to do anything that suits your fancy."

"Done." Blaise agreed, flashing Hermione a rare grin, before signaling to the waiter to bring several more bottles of wine to the table.

Draco slipped his arm back around his lovely little witch, pleased to feel her relax against him as she began to chatter with Graham about Muggle skiing. He breathed in the light smell of Hermione's curls and looked round the table at his friends. Maybe it was the wine, or the fresh prospects of the Keating deal, or the happy din of conversation of his friends gathered round the table, or maybe just the anticipation of the heated shag he was planning to give Hermione once he'd gotten her alone, but Draco was feeling quite good. Happy even. Who needed those bloody Weasels anyhow?

* * *

Author's notes:

My apologies for the substantial delay in updating. I had to give up writing for a while under the demands of school. I've since graduated, moved, and started a new job, and am very pleased to be writing again. Thanks for your patience, I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter and please, please encourage me to keep writing and leave a review!


	10. Chapter 10

Post Hogwarts: A chance encounter with Hermione Granger in a Muggle café leaves Draco Malfoy aching for more. D/Hr with mentions of BW/Hr, H/G, and R/L. Disregards the events of HBP and DH.

_**Disclaimer: **__**JK Rowling's, not mine. No profits, just good times.**_

Tin Angel

* * * 10 * * *

Draco's lips hummed over the soft skin at the hollow of her hipbone. Pressing a kiss there, he turned his cheek to rest upon the flat of her stomach, looking up the slopes and planes of her body to the dark eyes that watched him drowsily. He liked her best here, naked and sated in his bed, skin pale and luminous in the moonlight that shone through the windows of his flat.

"I'm still waiting for an answer."

"I am still considering my opinion." he replied coolly, glancing up at her and catching the amusement flickering in her eyes.

"One would imagine that someone with your intellect would have formulated an opinion by now."

"One would also imagine that someone with your intellect would appreciate the merits of a well constructed critique."

"It's not that complicated of a book."

"All the same, I mean to dazzle you with my insight."

She huffed and remained silent, fingers coming up to run lazily through his pale hair. Draco quickly lost himself in the soothing sensation of her fingers and the slow rise and fall of her breathing beneath his cheek. He had just begun to drift along into a daydream of seducing Hermione at the library at Hogwarts, when, feeling her stir a bit, he glanced up at her.

"Well?" she said expectantly.

Sigh. Fine then.

"Well. I found it to be a… well… somewhat harrowing psychological exploration of the travails of a lonesome impoverished childhood in Canada."

Silence.

"You disagree?"

"You can't be serious."

"I am quite serious."

More silence.

"Furthermore, I question the skill of the author. It was a bit tedious at times," he went on awkwardly, when she said nothing, "Was I really supposed to accept such a vocabularic range in a mere child?"

"Vocabularic?"

"Yes, vocabularic, and honestly, suspension of disbelief can only be stretched so far. I mean really, even you weren't such a Faustian little menace as a child."

"You're completely mad. Did you even read the bloody book?"

"Of course I read it, and I seriously question the appropriateness of such a disquieting memoir in the hands of young impressionable minds."

"You didn't read it."

"I did."

"You didn't." Hermione chuckled, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I can't believe you. After I suffered through a thousand pages of that awful Ayn Rand and all her moochers and looters and laissez-faire elitist rot, and you couldn't be bloody bothered to read Anne of Green Gables."

"I read two chapters and that was more than enough. Horrid child."

"Anne Shirley is clever and charming!"

"No, you are clever and charming. Anne Shirley is like an experiment in Weasel breeding gone horribly wrong. Annoying hair and always talking talking talking, like some insipid child who's nicked an adult vocabulary and uses it to drone on and on about useless nonsense."

"How tragical." Hermione was outright laughing now.

"Indeed. That book is a testament to the inanity that Potter and his little Weasel friends are breeding and unleashing on the world." Draco crawled up her body, smirking as his lips skimmed over her navel, between her breasts, across her shoulder. Looking right in her eyes, he feigned an expression of concerned disdain, "Merlin. Just think of the abominations you might have spawned if you had actually gotten together and reproduced with Ron Weasley. Or worse, Percy! The absurdity. The horror. The freckles."

She laughed again and swatted at him.

"Did you really hate my book that much?" he questioned, giving her a serious, mournful look that made her smile and touch his cheek gently.

"I didn't really like it very much, but I suppose I didn't hate it. She has an… interesting perspective. Besides, my father rather liked her work and I always respected his opinions."

"And your mother?"

"She loathed her."

"Were all you Grangers such avid readers?" he smirked.

"Very much so. Our house was always full of books."

"Yes I'm picturing it now. Mother and Father Granger with tea and pipe, respectively, seated in elegant armchairs and reading Whitman and Dostoyevsky. And there on the rug by the blazing hearth, is wee little six-year-old you, mad hair strewn all about, and curled up with a giant volume of Proust."

"Oh shut it, Malfoy!" she exclaimed, reaching up to swat him again. He caught her arm and pushed it back onto the bed, pinning her and grinning haughtily.

"Don't deny the truth, Granger, you know exactly how it went." he tsked, bending down to nuzzle her neck, before speaking in a tinny impersonation of a little girl's voice, "Mummy, Daddy, don't you think Odette de Crécy is a metaphor for the belle epoqu-"

"Enough, enough!" she laughed, struggling futilely against his arms, before lying back and pouting at him. "I never read Swann's Way."

He kissed her gently, then rolled to his side, tugging her against him, "They must have been incredibly fond of you."

"Very much so."

"You must miss them terribly."

"Every day. Every hour." She said, smiling sadly. Laying her head back on the pillow, she reached up to run her fingertips over the scruff on his jaw, "Do you?"

"What of me?"

"Do you miss them? Your parents, I mean."

"Some days more than others," he shrugged. "They'd have never functioned well in the world as it is today. They weren't the sort of people who could adapt."

"And you would have had to watch them watch the world they knew being dismantled."

"It would have been unbearable. They'd have floundered. Father would have scoffed at the trade and employment reforms, and dug his heels in until he'd run the business into the ground, and Mother would have spurned the changing social strata and her circle would have completely diminished."

"Still, they were… "

"Still nothing, really." Draco interrupted, his voice flat. "They were not kind people. They were misguided and selfish, and they would have ended up bitter and isolated and likely more hateful than they already were, and that's only if they escaped life in Azkaban or the Kiss. I did love them, Granger, but losing my parents was not the same experience as you losing yours."

He took up a strand of her hair, twisting and untwisting it around his finger as she mulled over his words. After a moment, she looked up at him with her large dark eyes and responded quietly.

"I suppose you're right. And still, I think I was the lucky one."

"Lucky? How so?"

"I mean, it was awful but… well, at least I made it out with my two best friends," she said quietly, a faint flicker of sadness in her eyes as she watched him.

Ah. Of course, he thought as he caught her meaning. He swallowed at the bitter lump that swelled in his throat, surprised at how quickly it rose up, even now. Vince and Greg.

Funny, really, how the thought of them hurt more than the memory of his parents. Like Blaise, he'd known Vince and Greg since he before he could walk, but he'd had different sorts of friendships with them. Blaise had always been something more of an intellectual peer. They'd learned to play chess together, been study partners at Hogwarts, used one another to cut their teeth on philosophical debates. Blaise was more reserved and cautious than Draco's other friends, and those qualities had gotten him through the war unscathed.

Vince and Gregg, on the other hand, had been his chums. They'd spent summers playing pick-up Quidditch, skinning their knees, building forts on his father's land, and getting into all sorts of mischief. When they were very young, they had made fun of girls together, and when they got older, they had chased girls together. The first time Draco ever got pissed off his arse was on a bottle of Ogden's Finest that Vince nicked from Greg's father's stash. They had made one another laugh and helped each other out of a scrape, and understood the pressures and expectations each was under from their families. Greg and Vince had been intensely loyal, sometimes blindly so. Logic, reason, and self-preservation had eventually overruled Draco's loyalty, and in the end, saved his life. His two friends had stayed true to their families and the war had claimed them along with so many others.

Draco often wondered what it would be like if they were still around. Would they have forgiven him for turning? As young men fresh out of school, would they have taken a romp around the Continent? Gone together to Arrows games? Been one another's wingmen when they finessed women at upscale bars? Would they have stood up in each other's weddings and watched their collective children skin knees and team up for games of Quidditch?

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he met Hermione's eyes, knowing that she could discern all this without a word from him. He reached out for her, tugging her up until he could rest his face against her chest. "Yes," he said simply, "you're right. Losing them was worst of all."

She didn't say anything for a while, just lay there against him while he lost himself in the thrum of her heartbeat, the rhythm of her breath, the faint sounds of traffic on the street below.

"Tell me something." he said against her skin.

"Something?"

"Anything."

"A radical shift in conversation, perhaps?"

"I insist."

"Well, if you insist."

"I absolutely demand it." he was smiling now.

"Vocabularic is not a word."

"It most certainly is." He snorted. "Besides that's not a shift, that's a throwback to our earlier discussion. Try again."

"I ran into the twins today when I went out to the market in Diagon."

"Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber? Lovely. How did that go?"

"Rather well, actually. In fact, I, um… invited them for tomorrow night."

Draco groaned and rolled over.

Fuck.

He'd been trying rather hard to avoid the thought of tomorrow night.

He and Hermione had been dating for nearly three months now, and the prolonged estrangement from her friends was the one thorn in their relationship. She tried not to let it show, but he could see how it wore at her, and so had reluctantly agreed when Luna had suggested that, if they would host a dinner party, she would deliver a Weasley.

"I'm sorry." Hermione said, biting her lip and looking at him, worry evident in her dark eyes, "They were so friendly and I was so thrilled to talk to them again, and when they asked what I was up to this weekend, I just responded without thinking. And they're so bloody smart, they cottoned on to the plan with Ron right away and absolutely insisted that they should come and help break the ice and I just couldn't find a way to say no and..."

Tension built in Draco's temples at the thought of forthcoming party, dulling the sound of Hermione's voice as blood seemed to pound through his veins. He was not looking forward to this. Had been dreading it in fact.

Luna's general idea was to begin working on the Weasley clan one at a time, showing them that Hermione was happy and proving to them that Draco wasn't such a bad guy. Of course, they would start with the Weasley over whom Luna could exert the most influence: Ronald.

"… and I figured, after all those two were next on Luna's list of Weasley's-To-Conquer, why not lump them in with Ron?" Hermione rambled on, fidgeting with the edge of the pillowcase, "Plus they are far more likely to just poke fun at us and find everything hilarious, rather than rip our heads off and maybe Ron will go along with it and everything will be alright."

She looked at him with hopeful eyes. Draco rubbed at the tension in his face, then ran his hands through his hair. If he wanted her, he would have to get through this. There was little more to it.

He sighed, reaching up and burying his hands in her wild hair and tilting her head back so he could kiss her deeply.

"Its fine," he murmured against her mouth, "I'll be my charming intelligent self, and provide a generous table of food and wine. What Weasley heart would not be melted?"

She pulled away and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"And of course, do my best to restrain my inner prat."

* * *

Draco Malfoy was such a snotty ferret prat.

The laughter and stories at the table around him faded into the back of Ron's consciousness, and he tried not to glare as Malfoy went into the kitchen to open another bottle of what was surely very expensive wine. The pale git returned to the table with it and refilled everyone's glass, brushing his hand over Hermione's shoulder when she held her glass up for him, and Ron hated the slight blush that warmed her cheeks at Malfoy's touch.

"And when I got home I found George stuck to the bathroom wall with gigantic pieces of sellotape," Katie was saying, her eyes tearing up with laughter, "and both of the boys running around the house, screaming bloody murder as all the little unicorn dolls chased them from room to room. They were both completely covered in glitter and flower petals, and the whole house and both of my sons reeked of perfume for days!"

"Oh and it just gets better!" George choked out, laughing and slapping Fred on the back, as Fred clutched his stomach and shook with silent laughter. Jo and Teddy Nott, friends of Malfoy apparently, were also laughing heartily, as were Luna and Hermione. Malfoy at least had the decency to look amused.

"That's right," Katie went on, smirking at her husband and Fred, "I managed to Petrify the unicorns but I couldn't get George un-sellotaped from the wall, so I floo'ed over to the shop to get Fred, and I found him sellotaped to the floor in the backroom and more of the little unicorn dolls were taking turns prancing up and down his body. He was also covered in flower petals and perfume, and those little dolls had done something to perm his hair!"

"He refused to let us cut it off and walked around with this huge poof of orange curls for a week before the spell wore off." George grinned.

"I think I pulled it off with aplomb." Fred said, winking at Luna and Hermione.

"You looked like a partially shredded carrot." Katie scoffed.

"Hey now, I got three dates that week."

"Obviously women of taste and class." said George, soberly.

"Keepers, right-oh." Fred smiled, putting a hand over his heart.

"And I take it, you plan to put them on shelves soon?" Teddy asked.

"Of course," Fred replied, "Just tinker with the spell strength and change up the marketing a bit. 'Not just the doll of your dreams, girls, but the perfect revenge on insufferable brothers.' A top seller, I'd wager."

"Do you do all your business in Britain or have you expanded out to Europe?" Teddy, inquired, and Ron's attention was drawn away again as Hermione leaned into Malfoy and said something quietly.

Ugh, please don't snog, Ron silently pleaded.

Honestly, he could still hardly believe he was here, sitting across from Draco Malfoy. Having dinner.

Ron picked up his glass and took a healthy drink, wishing it tasted like vinegar and petrol. Of course it didn't. It tasted of dark fruits and smoke, and it was ever so smooth, and really complimented the curry Hermione had put into the main dish, and fuck he hated Malfoy.

Almost enough to ruin his appetite.

Not quite though. Hermione was such a damn good cook. Always had been. He'd really missed going to her place for dinners.

Stupid Malfoy.

Salad was bloody good, too. Goat's cheese and poached pears. Maybe he should have a bit more.

And perhaps another bit of bread. Mione was doing amazing things with rosemary these days. Ron broke off another piece of bread, and returned to studying the man seated at the other end of the table.

For his part, Malfoy's cool demeanor seemed to be showing cracks, and Ron suspected he was also feeling ill at ease. The blond appeared to be fighting an internal battle not to refer to Ron or the twins as 'Weasel,' as well as to keep himself from outright pawing Hermione in front of all their guests. Malfoy had uncharacteristically stumbled over their names a number of times, managing to spit out 'Weasel…ley' several times before resorting to referring to Ron, George and Fred as 'You.' His efforts to tamp down an obvious compulsion to grope the brunette at his side gave Malfoy the appearance of being twitchy and stiff at the same time. Ron took another bite of his bread and tried not to snicker as Malfoy idly lifted his hand as though to touch Hermione's hair, then caught himself and reached for his wineglass instead, scowling into it like a petulant little girl.

Wanker really should be able to keep his hands to himself in polite company.

Though, if Ron was being honest with himself, he hadn't been free of his own moments of petulance in the last few days.

On Monday, when Luna had first presented him with the invitation to dinner at Hermione's place, he had balked at the idea and gone to their room for a nap. Upon emerging a few hours later, he found Luna finishing up dinner-for-one at the kitchen table. She had dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and airily informed him that Hermione deserved better from him, and that until he decided to be a more considerate friend, Luna herself would be less than considerate about making meals or sharing her… affections.

Luna had been true to her word, and by the time Thursday rolled around, he had reluctantly agreed to attend dinner on Saturday.

The last twenty-four hours had left Ron a wreck of frazzled nerves and mixed emotions. Last night at dinner, he'd pushed his food around on his plate while drudging up the memory of every nasty thing Draco Malfoy had ever said about his family. He'd soon lost his appetite and gone to bed, where he tossed and turned and tried not to remember the finer details of Malfoy's song writing abilities.

In the morning, he'd stared at his juice and porridge while thinking of how wrong it had felt when Hermione began missing birthday parties and family dinners and holiday festivities in the months after her breakup with Bill.

At midday, he was poking around in the pantry for the makings of a sandwich, when he began to think of that awful summer they had spent holed up in Grimmauld Place with that miserable blond prat. The wanker only ever stopped bitching and complaining long enough to take a stab at tormenting them, Ron grumbled to himself as he angrily cut into a tomato and a hunk of cheese before slapping the sandwich together. He got two bites in before hurling the rest into the rubbish bin and going out on his broom for an hour.

While sipping his afternoon tea, he quietly watched his lovely wife, who was knitting and humming to herself in her favorite armchair. He remembered how, the summer they were eighteen, just after they'd won the war and left Hogwarts, he had confessed to Hermione that Luna Lovegood made him tongue-tied and weak-kneed, and Hermione had swallowed her childhood crush on him and spent the rest of the summer helping him win Luna's affections. At that memory, Ron had set down his tea, gone to his closet to put on a nice jumper and Luna's favorite tweed jacket, and told his wife he'd run out to grab a bottle of wine to take to dinner.

When they arrived at the door to Hermione's flat, he was unable to discern whether the discomfort in his stomach was fear that Harry wouldn't understand why he was here, worry that he would have to watch Hermione and Malfoy snog all night, or just pangs of hunger from his inability to eat food for the past day.

Luckily, when he and Luna had walked through the front door, the first person he saw was Hermione. At the sight of his dear childhood friend, all Ron's nervousness and anxiety was immediately replaced with a knot of affection and guilt at the back of his throat. He'd taken two big steps and engulfed her in a long, tight hug. Pulling away, he'd grasped her by the shoulders and scrunched up his forehead, scrutinizing her face. Hermione had stood there quietly, looking back at him with warmth and worry. For the millionth time, he'd wished he shared Harry's ability to discern every detail about her just from her eyes. Finally, he'd sighed and released her into Luna's warm embrace.

Ron was then immediately engulfed by Fred, George and Katie, all of them laughing and clapping him on the back in their usual enthusiastic greeting.

Then, grinning widely, Fred had stepped aside, swept his arm out and said, "You remember, Draco Malfoy, of course."

Ron hadn't been able to stop himself from stiffening and narrowing his eyes slightly as he caught sight of his childhood nemesis standing further back in Hermione's flat with several unfamiliar people.

Malfoy was much as Ron remembered him. Tall and pale and lean, with cold grey eyes, wearing an expensive charcoal sweater made of Merlin-knows-what, hands shoved casually in the pockets of his trousers, and lips pressed together in a thin, tense line. If compelled to be polite, Ron might say Malfoy wasn't as pointy as he recalled. Maybe angular. Prat.

Malfoy had slowly crossed the room and stopped just in front of Ron, regarding him silently for a moment, before cautiously extending his hand.

"Weasley."

Ron wanted slap Malfoy's hand away and kick him in the shin. Instead he set his jaw, and warily shook Malfoy's hand, doing his best to keep a snarl out of his voice.

"Malfoy."

At that, Luna and Hermione had both seemed to release a collective sigh, and had gracefully separated the two, Hermione tugging Malfoy off to the kitchen to help her get drinks for their guests, while Luna and Ron introduced themselves to Teddy and Jo Nott.

The rest of the evening had progressed relatively smoothly. Ron immediately liked Teddy and Jo, finding them warm and easy to chat with, and they seemed to know Hermione and were kind to her. Fred and George were their usual selves, and Ron was grateful they were there. Whenever the conversation got awkward, or Malfoy slipped on a 'Weasel-ley', or Ron snorted rudely in response to something Malfoy said, the twins lightened things up with stories of mishaps in their lab, the antics of George's boys, or just general nonsense. They also seemed to delight in finding subtle ways to tease Hermione and make her blush, commenting on how she seemed to have acquired a healthy athletic glow, inquiring if she was getting enough sleep lately, or complimenting her on mastering that just-shagged hair style.

Ron didn't much like the implications of those comments, but Hermione seemed to take them in stride. He felt Luna reach over and take his hand. He smiled affectionately at her and tried to tune back into the conversation.

"So we've got catalog circulation pretty broadly across Europe and the States, but you know the shops in Hogsmeade and London and Dublin are all doing swimmingly, so we've really been thinking hard about expanding into Europe." Fred was saying.

"Is that so? Where have you been looking?" Malfoy inquired.

"Larger cities mostly," George replied, "Berlin, Florence, Vienna, Barcelona, Paris."

"I spent a great deal of time abroad in the last few years, and I know the business community in those cities quite well. I could put you in touch with a number of contacts if you get serious about any of those places." Malfoy offered, his voice casual and smooth. "They could be a lot of help with permits, getting good real estate, local magical regulations, etc."

"That could be very helpful. We'll keep it in mind." Fred said, lifting his glass a bit and nodding, "Thanks, Malfoy."

"What were you doing?" Ron found himself saying suddenly.

"Pardon?" Malfoy had immediately stiffened and eyed Ron stonily from across the table.

"What was it you were doing abroad for so long?" Ron clarified, ignoring the way Luna had tightened her grip on his hand, "I mean we didn't hear much about you after the war and all. What were you up to?"

"I stuck around London for a year or so," Malfoy answered slowly, "Getting a handle on the family business. Figuring out how things worked, trimming fat and clearing cobwebs on a few divisions."

"But then you split."

"After a year I had competent leadership installed, and decided to work on reviving some of our offices abroad."

"A bit anxious to get out of London, eh?" Ron pressed, now feeling Luna's fingernails digging into his skin.

"I came back often enough, but yes, if you must know. Quite a few people I knew died in that war, including my parents, so no, I wasn't particularly keen on spending all my time walking down Memory Lane."

"We all lost people in the war. Being in London was difficult for everyone." Ron dismissed, unable to restrain the irritation in his voice, "But it was a time to man up and rebuild. For most of us anyway."

"We did our best to help put funds into those rebuilding projects." Malfoy was sitting back in his chair, his entire body tense, his gaze hard and fixed on Ron.

"Yeah, those charitable contributions are a great tax write-off, aren't they?" Ron shot back, registering Hermione's frown and the movement of her hand to Malfoy's knee.

"We didn't write-off a knut." Malfoy said coldly.

"Not quite the same as getting your hands dirty rebuilding a school or a hospital though, is it?"

"Ronald--." Luna warned quietly, squeezing his hand harder.

"Everyone did what we could back then." Hermione said, her tone soothing, but her expression filled with warning. "There were so many things to be done that required physical AND financial generosity."

"You could also say I suspected any physical presence on my part might be less than welcome. I daresay I was right." Malfoy said, almost sneering at Ron, before taking a breath and turning to Hermione, taking her hand from his knee and clasping it in his own, "Perhaps we should clear the table for dessert?"

"Oh, dessert as well?" Katie asked cheerily and a bit too loudly, as Hermione and Malfoy began picking up plates from the table and taking them into the kitchen, "You do spoil us rotten, Hermione. How I've missed eating dinner here. We should have you both over to dinner soon. The boys would just love to see their Auntie."

Luna dropped Ron's hand, looked at him crossly, and reached over to his side, pinching him hard enough to elicit and silent 'Ow!' Ron knit his brow and shrugged his shoulders, lifting his hands just off his lap and clenching his fingers as he mimed strangling Malfoy. Luna slapped his hands down, and Ron sat back in his chair with a huff.

Jo stood up quickly with a smile, reaching to take up plates as well, "I hope you had a hand in dessert, Draco."

"Do you cook, Malfoy?" George asked with amusement.

"Draco's quite a good cook, actually." Teddy offered, "A fine baker as well."

"I picked up a few useful skills when I was traveling. It's rather a lot like potions, I find."

"Once he made us cannoli," Jo said, "It was heavenly. I'm a fair cook, but I'm wretched at pastries."

"Sorry Jo, no cannoli tonight. I thought baklava and Turkish coffee might be nice." Malfoy called from the kitchen,

"Oh, I love baklava." Katie sighed.

"George can't cook either," Fred said, "Shockingly bad for someone so good at charms and potions."

"This coming from the bloke who makes liver and onions every night." George scoffed.

"Top notch liver and onions. None finer in all of London." Fred declared.

Ron smiled lazily as the twins bickered about who was the worse cook, all the while watching Malfoy and Hermione in the kitchen. Malfoy was leaning back against the counter, rubbing his temples and Hermione stepped close to him, running her hand soothingly along his arm and saying something quietly. Ron didn't miss the softening of Malfoy's expression, or the affection in Hermione's eyes as she brushed her lips against his cheek. Didn't miss it and didn't like it. Didn't like the way it jumbled his thoughts. Didn't like the way it made him feel guilty for not trusting Hermione, and also guilty about being here when he knew how much Harry was against it. He didn't like pissing Luna off and he sure as hell, didn't like the idea of trying to be chummy or even civil to Malfoy after everything. Years and years of everything. Part of him said he should try harder. Part of him said to grab his coat and go. Ron sighed again. For tonight at least, he'd settle for civility and a few pieces of baklava.

* * * * * * * *

Author's notes:

Apologies for the wait. This story is completely plotted out and I love it and plan to finish it. Sometimes its just hard to find the time to write. Thanks for sticking with me. Reviews are very encouraging, so please leave one.

*Anne of Green Gables was written by Canadian author L.M. Montgomery. Personally, I'm with Hermione. I adore Anne Shirley.

*The book Hermione refers to is meant to be Atlas Shrugged by Russian-born American author Ayn Rand. Before anyone castigates me, I have nothing against Ayn Rand, though I do think Draco would like her work and Hermione would detest it.

*Swann's Way is the first volume in French author Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time.


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